


Going Overboard

by Fyre



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Class Differences, Class Issues, Complete, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Memory Loss, Overboard AU, Romantic Comedy, technically an unofficial rom-com au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 42,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23647654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: When you do a job, you expect to get paid. What you don't expect is for things to go overboard.Ineffable Overboard AU
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 750
Kudos: 356





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out I was inspired by the big ol' romcom event happening in GO fandom at the moment. I'd been wanting to do a human AU and my brain did "NOW KISS!" between human AU and one of my favourite rom coms. This is the result. Minus some of the more... *coughs* problematic elements of 80s rom coms.

Among the small colourful fishing boats and hefty transport ships, the yacht gleamed like a diamond in a pile of coal at the far end of the docks. Crowley stared at it. Sunderland wasn’t known as a playground for the rich and famous, so best guess, the thing had broken down on its way somewhere else.

“Hello? Anyone up there?” He headed for the gangplank. Never a big fan of boats, he waited at the bottom until a woman popped up from one of the dozens of doorways.

“Ah, right on time!” She beamed at him, bustling along the side of the boat towards the gangplank. “Come on up, love. Mr. Fell has been waiting for you.”

Clutching his tool case with one hand and the rail with the other, Crowley advanced up onto the deck, which was as steady under his feet as solid ground. Huh. Looked like the rich really could make anything comfortable, eh?

The woman offered a ring-decked hand. “I’m Tracy,” she said. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to Ezra’s study. He’ll be very pleased to see you, poor duck.”

“I was told it was a wiring job,” Crowley said, following her down a flight of stairs and trying not to stare too hard. The place looked like the inside of the fanciest hotel he’d ever seen. “I’ve never done work on a boat before.”

Tracy flapped a hand, bracelets clacking. “Oh, this isn’t attached to the boat. Mr. Fell needs a cabinet in his study fixed up with some decent lighting and–” She paused at a polished door and tapped on it. “Coo-ee, Mr. Fell! The electrician is here!” She pushed the door open.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Tracy! Shut the door!”

The woman gave Crowley a rueful eyeroll and pulled the door shut. “He’ll just be a minute.”

Crowley eyed the door. “You sure this is a good time? I’m not in the way or something?”

She wrinkled her nose. “He’s just got his little hobbies. Probably tidying things up for you.”

When the door finally opened and Crowley got a look into the room, he had a feeling tidying up was the last thing the man had been doing. It looked like a library had exploded in the room with dozens of leather bound books everywhere, on every surface.

Mr. Fell stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped together, a look of pursed exasperation on his face. He looked _exactly_ like the kind of man who would have an exploding library. He even had a bloody waistcoat and a bow tie!

“Like I said,” Tracy breezed in. “This is Mr. Crowley. He’s here to do your cabinet for you.”

The man’s pale eyes flicked to Crowley, and a little of the exasperation faded. “Oh. Yes. Of course.” He waved Crowley closer and gestured to a section of glass-fronted casing. Proper hardwood as well, none of the cheap Ikea bollocks. “I was hoping to have illumination wired in here. I have a rather special volume I want to display.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Crowley said, stepping by him and opening up the cabinet. He ran his fingers along the surfaces, then frowned. “Is this whole unit fitted to the wall?”

“Well, yes,” Mr. Fell said. “It’s on a _boat_ after all.”

Crowley grimaced. “Right. And can it be moved?”

Mr. Fell gaped at him, then stared around the room. The shelves covered almost every wall except the one framing the door and one nook with an armchair beside one of those round window-ish things. Porthole? Yeah. That sounded about right. “I hardly think so! I’d have to move everything! Can’t you just…” He made a vague gesture. “I don’t know. Wires or something?”

Crowley stared at him, adjusting his expectations from standard electrical knowledge to basic. “The wires would have to be able to connect to something for the power. I could install a battery-powered light fitting, but if you want decent lighting, it’ll need access to an electricity source and unless I can get behind these shelves, I’m going to have to put wires _through_ them.”

Which would mean moving the mess of books and papers and documents and Christ, Crowley was starting to wish he’d given a higher quote for the work.

“I’ve already told him what a bother it would be,” Tracy said helpfully. “And Mr. Gabriel didn’t want me to call, but–”

“If you have to drill through the shelving, so be it,” Mr. Fell said a bit too nippily. Sore point there, Crowley thought. Mr. Fell glanced across the room at a box on the desk, then back. “If you can have it done as soon as possible. We’ll be leaving in a couple of days.”

Crowley gave the room another look. “I’ll have to move stuff off some of the shelves.”

The pursed, pinched look returned. “If you must.” Mr. Fell bustled past him towards the door, but he paused there. “Don’t touch anything on the left side of the room. At all.”

“Right. Left side. Got it.” Crowley gave him a salute. “I’ll just… get on with it, then.”

Mr. Fell nodded shortly and hurried away, prissy little shoes tap-tapping down the hallway.

Tracy glanced after him. “Don’t mind him,” she said cheerfully. “He’s having a bit of a time.” She rubbed her hands together. “Right, love. Where do you want to start and will you need some of my lads to come in and give you a hand?”

In the end, three of the crew were on hand to help him clear the necessary shelves, though it took a feat of contortion to wriggle his way around into the display case to do the drilling. The wiring itself was a simple enough thing, but making it blend in with the wood of the shelves to keep it unobtrusive was the trick.

Mr. Fell poked his head in the door at least once an hour, making worried, fretful sounds, as if Crowley had pissed all over his books or set them on fire or something. Maybe he thought he’d use them for loo roll or something. Once, he glanced in when Crowley was having a coffee and he looked like he might explode.

“Tracy!” he exclaimed.

The woman materialised like magic. “Yes, Mr. Fell?”

“You know the rules!” He waved a hand imperiously at Crowley. “Make sure you relay the information.” He swept off in a snit and Crowley was left blinking in confusion.

Tracy winced. “Sorry, love. Should’ve said. No food in here. Or drinks.” She jerked her head towards the door. “I’ll take you to the dining room.”

Because of course, the bloody great boat had a dining room with a table and a dozen chairs and cabinets and was that bloody chandelier? And inside, it had a man who looked like he’d escaped from some yacht modelling catalogue. He looked up over the edge of his Financial Times and raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t remember okaying a new crewmember, Miss Potts.”

Tracy shooed Crowley towards the ridiculously large dining table. “Mr. Crowley is here doing some work for Mr. Fell,” she said. “This is Mr. Gabriel.”

The man smiled without smiling. Clever trick, that. He folded up his newspaper. “Is this about that damned cabinet again?”

“I only did as Mr. Fell requested,” Tracy said. She smiled at Crowley. “Have a seat, dear. Finish your coffee.”

Mr. Gabriel gave him a long, cool look, as if assessing him. Crowley knew he didn’t look like much. Jeans and a baby tee and scarf probably didn’t pass muster in a floating palace with chandeliers. “You’ll have to excuse Ezra. He’s… got some strange habits.”

Crowley smiled politely, about as convincingly as Mr. Gabriel had himself. “I’m just here to put some lighting in.”

“Hm.”

The paper rustled as Gabriel opened it up again, though Crowley couldn’t help feeling like he was still being watched. He downed the cup as fast as he could, scorching his mouth, then shoved the chair back.

“I’ll…” He jerked his thumb towards the door. “Nice meeting you.”

“Likewise,” Gabriel said without even looking at him.

Arsehole, Crowley decided at once, heading back to work.

The worst of the work – the drilling and wiring – was done by that afternoon. He’d even finished securing it all in place to the point that the wire casing couldn’t be seen unless you ducked down under the shelves for a look at it. The only things that were left were the fittings, which he had to pick up from a shop for installation the next morning.

So it came as a surprise when he arrived on the boat and Mr. Fell was waiting for him, face twisted up in outrage.

Crowley held up the fittings. “I told Tracy to let you know I’d be in this morning to fit them.”

“That’s _not_ the issue!” Mr. Fell jabbed a finger in the direction of study. “I was _very_ specific about the rules, Mr. Crowley. You were _not_ meant to touch anything on the left side of the study. I made myself very clear. I thought even someone like you would be able to follow basic instructions.”

“Someone like _me_ ,” Crowley spluttered. “What the hell d’you mean by that?”

“Oh, you come in, acting as if you can do whatever you please!” Mr. Fell’s face was pink, his hands bunching in fists by his sides. “You can’t simply walk into someone else’s private spaces and treat them like _that_.”

“Like _what_?” Crowley shook his head. “You’ve lost me. You got me in to do the job. I’ve done it.” He hesitated. “Is this about the coffee?”

Mr. Fell’s face crumpled and he caught Crowley by the arm, all but dragging him through the boat.

“Hey!” Crowley tried to wrench free, but Fell’s grip with like a vice. “Hey, let go!”

Mr. Fell shoved him through the door into the room and gestured towards his desk. “What is the meaning of that?”

Crowley stared from him to the desk in confusion, then frowned. On the cover of one of the old leather books, there was a clear ring of…

“Hey now!” he protested. “What are you saying? Are you blaming me for that?”

“You’re the only person who has been in here with coffee!” Mr. Fell exclaimed.

“And you told me not to go to that side of the room, so I didn’t!” Crowley waved towards the shelving. “I spent every waking hour of my day yesterday working there. I’m not a complete moron! I can take some basic instructions.”

“Clearly you didn’t!”

Crowley spluttered in indignation. “Hey!”

“I want you to leave.” Mr. Fell snatched up Crowley’s tools. “Get out of here.” He slammed into him, pushing him up, out of the door. “Gabriel!” He called up to the upper deck. “We should get underway. I think enough damage has been done here already!”

“What d’you think you’re playing at?” Crowley fought against the man’s hands. What the hell was he made of? Titanium? “I did a job for you and now you’re accusing me of doing something I didn’t do? Wasn’t me!”

“A likely story!” Mr. Fell shoved him ahead, teetering dangerously close to the rail. “No one goes in my study but me and no one has been in my study but you and now, there are coffee stains? If you can’t be man enough to admit it–”

“Fuck that!” Crowley protested. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mr. Fell’s lips thinned to an angry line. “Get out,” he snapped, pointing across to the gangplank. The deck was vibrating underfoot and a couple of the crew were standing by the gangplank, waiting expectantly. “Now.”

“You haven’t paid me!”

“Well, I’ll consider it compensation for the damage you have done to a very valuable book,” Mr. Fell snapped.

Crowley shoved at him. “I already told you I didn’t do it! Are you thick in the head or something? What’s the matter? Can’t admit you did it yourself? Ruined your own stuff and have to blame some workie, is that it? You rich bastards are all the–”

He didn’t know who was more surprised when Mr. Fell gave him a hard push, face all clenched up.

Definitely didn’t know who was more surprised when his legs hit the rail and suddenly, he was falling.

He hit the water on the far side of the boat, going under, and above him, he saw the glimpse of Mr. Fell’s pale face and fluff of hair before the boat rumbled to life and surged off out of the estuary. Spluttering and gasping, he broke back through the surface, treading water.

A life ring bobbed nearby and he flailed his way over to it, clinging onto it. One of the crew probably chucked it, he thought. At least _someone_ on that damn boat gave a shit.

“You _bastard_!” he howled after the receding vessel and slapped at the water. “Bastard!”


	2. Chapter 2

“We really should go back!”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who said we should get underway, Ezra.”

Ezra Fell shifted uncomfortably, glancing back towards the port, the thick trail of their wake frothing up behind them. “Yes, but not when I pushed the poor man overboard! We could have at least fished him out of the water and made sure he was all right.”

“You threw him the life ring and that’s more than he deserved.” Gabriel clicked his tongue. “You said it yourself: he was a vandal who damaged your property. Do you really think we should be worrying about people like that?”

“Well… I… I suppose not.” Ezra twisted his hands together uncomfortably. “I-I think I’ll get Tracy to give him a call. Just to make sure he got out all right.”

“And then he’ll come chasing you for payment for a job unfinished and expect you to let him get away with the mess he made.” Gabriel unfolded from the table and approached Ezra. “I know these kind of troublemakers and you don’t want to give an inch with them.”

Ezra nodded self-consciously. “Yes,” he said unhappily. “You’re probably right.” He forced a brittle smile. “I just thought it might be nice to display the Nutter volume properly. I should have asked you about getting someone in.”

Gabriel gave him that very white, very American smile. “You know it, kiddo.” Kiddo. As if he wasn’t only three years younger than Ezra himself. He gave Ezra’s shoulders a bone-crunching squeeze. “I’m here to watch your back. You need anything, you come to me next time, okay?”

“Yes.” Ezra lowered his eyes. “Of course.” He stepped back. “I should– I have things to arrange.”

He turned and hurried back through the halls to his study, shutting the door behind him. The half-empty shelves on the right side made him flinch guiltily. The man _had_ done a good job, even if had been left unfinished. Gabriel would just have to call in one of his usual contractors when they got back to London to finish it up.

Boxes of his books and papers were arrayed on the floor and he forced himself to concentrate on them and not think about the stupid man and his stupid coffee cup and the stain on the lovely 16th century volume. Luckily, Gabriel also knew a conservator who would be able to patch it up. Hopefully, the damage wouldn’t be too bad.

His shelves were almost back in order when someone tapped at the door a moment before opening it.

“Are you all right, dear?”

Ezra didn’t look around. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She tsked gently. “I heard you had a proper row with Mr. Crowley before I got up this morning. One of the lads said you threw him overboard.” Ezra flinched, heat creeping up the back of his neck. “You didn’t!”

“It was an accident!” He turned and pointed at his book on the desk. “Did you see what he did to my volume? I gave him _one_ simple instruction and that uneducated ape splattered coffee all over my book!”

Tracy peered at the book and then back at him. “Hm.”

Ezra rubbed his brow. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Tracy, out with it.”

“He only had one cuppa in here,” she said. “And you made things clear then. D’you really think he’s that daft that he’d put a cup on one of your shelves, let alone on your book?”

“He was the only person in here!”

“And the stain wasn’t there before? You sure?”

Ezra nodded emphatically. “I _know_ it wasn’t. I check every volume I buy.”

She glanced at the desk again, her lips thinning. “Fine.” She trotted back to the door, then paused. “You’d do better to give Mr. Crowley a moments’ thought, love. He’s hardly an uneducated ape if he can fit your lighting exactly as you wanted it, is he?”

She stepped out and she had a way of shutting the door that let her know he’d done something to disappoint her, which was absurd. She was a _housekeeper_. Of course she would side with one of the help, even if it was the help from the shore. 

He arranged several more books on the shelf, then glanced back over at the desk.

The coffee stain _hadn’t_ been there. He was sure of it.

He crossed back to the desk, touching the cover. Definitely a stain, certainly coffee, but… but hadn’t Mr. Crowley had a mug? The stain on the book was smaller and narrower, far too narrow to be made by the sturdy mug the man had had in his skinny freckled hands.

Ezra’s heart dropped to his shoes. “Oh no.” He hurried out into the hall and made his way up through the yacht to the… saily bit where the captain was. They’d been sailing a good hour and a bit already and he hated to be a bother, but…

“Captain Michael!”

The Captain, a stern and terrifying woman, turned. “Mr. Fell. I didn’t expect to see you up here.”

Ezra nodded. “I know and I’m dreadfully sorry, but there’s been a mistake. We need to go back. There’s something I need to do.”

Michael eyed him. “Are you sure, sir? Mr. Gabriel was very clear that we were to make a course for London.”

Ezra bunched his fists in frustration. “Captain, Mr. Gabriel is _not_ your employer! If I must, I shall contact a… a…. higher authority.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Very well, Mr. Fell, though you may have some explaining to do to Mr. Gabriel.”

The thought made Ezra feel sick to the stomach. “Well… I shall.” He pointed in what he hoped was the direction from whence they had come. “Now, about face, if you don’t mind. And don’t stop until we get there.”

Perhaps it was cowardly of him, but he retreated back below decks, away from his study and to his private quarters. There was plenty to do after all. Correspondence. Letters from family and friends. All sorts of things that really should have kept him from fretfully pacing and wringing his hands, even as the boat turned and the hazy daylight changed angle through the windows.

To his surprise, Gabriel didn’t appear at once, but then he did tend to spend his mornings in the his own office in the belly of the ship, somewhere where – so he claimed – he wouldn’t be distracted by things like scenery and nature.

Ezra had almost paced a hole in his carpet when the door swung open. Tracy at least had the courtesy to knock.

“What the hell is this, sunshine?”

Ezra tried to smile. “Ah. Yes. Gabriel. Um.” He waved a hand towards the window. “We’re heading north again.”

“Yeah, so I heard.” Gabriel had this way of standing, something upright and military and always made Ezra feel small and soft and pathetic beside him. “I thought we talked about this, this morning.”

“We did, but I… um…” Ezra cleared his throat. “I realised I made something of a mistake. I… I don’t believe that man is to blame for the crime I accused him of. I… I rather wanted to go back and apologise in person.”

“And pay him, I have no doubt.”

Ezra nodded. “Well, he _did_ do all that work for me,” he said. “It’s– I think it’s the right thing to do.”

“And you threatened Michael with _her_?” Gabriel’s lip curled. “Come on, Ezra. We both know she doesn’t take you seriously. Do you think she’s going to care that you embarrassed yourself in front of a handy man?”

“I-I made a mistake and I think I should rectify it.”

“And waste a load of fuel to do so,” Gabriel pointed out. “I’m going up there and getting us on the way home now. We’ll send this…. Crowley, was it? We’ll put a cheque in the mail and you like writing letter, right? You can do one of those fancy hand-written flowery apologies you’re so good at. Okay? Saves us wasting any more time running around up here.”

Ezra sank a little, as if he had been punctured and gently started deflating. “I would rather do it in person,” he said tentatively. “It feels more polite.”

“After you threw the son of a bitch overboard?” Gabriel laughed. “I’d be amazed if he didn’t press charges.”

Ezra blanched, his stomach curdling. “Oh no. You don’t think he would–”

“That’s not my concern and not our problem.” He gently socked Ezra in the middle. “I’ll go and talk to Michael and we’ll head back south. Don’t you worry your head about it. I’ll take care of everything.” He flashed that million dollar smile. “It’s what you pay me for after all.”

“Yes.” Ezra smiled weakly. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” He tugged at the edges of his waistcoat. “I’ll just… I think I’ll go and get some air…”

Gabriel clapped him hard on the back as he passed. “Atta boy.”

Ezra slipped through the hall and took one of the side doors up onto the deck.

Since their departure from the dock, the dull grey clouds had swelled along the horizon, thicker and blacker. Raindrops were already pattering on the rails and the edge of the deck. Ezra took a gulp of the chilly sea air, staring at the coast, the rail cold and slippery against his hand.

Really, he ought to put his foot down and insist they go back. Amends needed to be made.

Choppy waves slapped at the side of the hull and Ezra staggered, bracing one hand against the rail and the other against the wall, his feet skittering on the rolling deck below him.

Yes. He would go up, tell them to continue back to the port and he would find Mr. Crowley personally to apologise.

The yacht’s horn blared and before he could take another step, the yacht swung about.

Ezra’s flat shoes – oh, why hadn’t he remembered to put on the more sensible deck shoes – slid on the rain-slicked deck and he felt the slap of the hull against a wave, felt the world tilt. Seafoam sloughed up over him and the rail hit his thigh and suddenly, there was nothing solid around him anymore.

The cold water of the North Sea closed over him and he thrashed about under the water.

When he broke through, gasping and freezing, the back of the yacht was already a distant shape on the horizon and sailing fast.

“Come back,” he tried to shout, coughing wetly when spray splashed at his face. “Man overboard.”

But, as usual, no one was listening.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re back earl… holy shit… what happened to you?”

Crowley ignored Anathema to stalk – well, no, it couldn’t be as dignified as stalking. It was more of a squelch – up the stairs to the bathroom. He stripped off his sodden clothes, chucking them in the washing basket, and got into the shower.

Thankfully, the lads hadn’t used up all – or probably any – of the hot water yet and Crowley scrubbed the sting of the docks from his skin and his hair, grumbling under his breath all the while.

He’d have to give the inside of a car a clean as well, dripping oil-slicked water all over the thing. Just lucky he had a couple of spare poly bags to cover the seat so he could at least get home. And on top of everything else, he’d lost a few of his tools from his belt when he went into the water. All that and no payment on top of it.

“Bastard!” he yelled, the word bouncing off the tiles.

Three more scrubs later, the stink was finally off. He pulled on a fresh t-shirt and boxers and stumped out of the bathroom, straight into Anathema on the landing. She had a mug of coffee in her hand and held it out.

Crowley’s glower subsided and he snatched the sweet elixir.

“You going to tell me what happened?” she inquired.

He chugged a couple of mouthfuls of the coffee. “The lads up?”

“Up, yes. Out of their room, no.”

He jerked his head back down the stairs. “Don’t need them getting wound up.”

They headed back down to the living room and Anathema closed the door behind them. She was a nice girl. Lived next door and ran one of those hippie-dippy shops in town. Bit daft, but always willing to watch the boys for him when he had to work during the summer. They insisted she was a witch and Crowley had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t do anything to prove them wrong.

“So,” she said, puffing her outsized skirts around her on the couch. “Spill.”

So he did, not leaving anything out about the huffy prissy little bastard and the boat and the bullshit Crowley had been accused of.

“And he just… threw you overboard?” Anathema’s dark eyes were round behind her glasses. “Like…” She made a wild shoving gesture.

Crowley hesitated. That part, he could still remember clearly. Mr. Fell had looked as shocked as him when he went over the rail. “I don’t think he planned on it,” he admitted. “Point is…” He frowned, scratching at his nose. “Point is he just _left_ me there. Didn’t know if I could swim or not and they sailed off into the sunset.”

“Uh…”

“Yes, all right, I know, it’s morning,” he hissed, flapping a hand. “You know what I mean. Proverbial sunset.”

She leaned back in her chair. “You gonna call the police?”

Crowley blinked at her. “You what?”

“Technically, could constitute assault. Reckless endangerment. Any one of a number of charges.” Her eyes lit up. “You could _sue_ him.”

That made him snort. “You’re so American sometimes, An.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” she retorted. “Technically, you have him on breach of financial contract, some variation of assault and… God, I don’t know… emotional distress? Your laundry bills? You could get them for _everything_.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes as he leaned sideways and set the mug on top of the radiator cover. “I, a self-employed single dad, will be able to afford a lawyer to take on the man who owns a bloody great yacht with _chandeliers_. Did I mention the chandeliers?”

“Several times, yeah.” She made a face at him. “So what’re you going to do?”

Crowley slumped back on the couch, running his hands over his face. “Dunno. Chase up some more jobs. Get on with things.”

“And let the elite assholes get away with it?”

He gave her a look. “God, I miss being young and enthusiastic,” he said, making a face at her. “I’ve got enough to worry about. I can’t afford to go head to head with some high and mighty rich bugger.”

She nodded sympathetically. “You going to tell the boys?”

Crowley winced. “And make them swear vengeance?” He shook his head. “You know how they get.”

“I do.” She glanced up at the thunder of footsteps upstairs. “Speaking of, want me to take them to the shop for the day? Give you some time to dig up some extra jobs?”

“They won’t be in the way?”

She grinned. “They think it’s fun and it gets more families in when they see the boys through the window.” She pushed herself to her feet. “We have to catch them when they’re young and malleable enough to be influenced the right way.”

Crowley smiled crookedly. “Sounds like you’re setting up a cult.”

She smoothed her skirt. “It’s educational,” she replied with a sniff. “We’re setting up a youth club to discuss global warming and what we can do to fight it.”

“Not be the kid of an electrician for a start,” Crowley snickered. Yells were tumbling down the stairs with a crash of footsteps. “Oi! Boys! Who let the pack of elephants in the house?”

The footsteps quieted. “Sorry!” Neither of the two voices sounded very sincere as they bounded to the kitchen.

Crowley reached for his pocket, then stared down at himself and his lack of jeans and pocket. “Shit. I need to go to the phone shop as well. My phone is buggered.” He unfolded to his feet. “D’you mind if I…?” He jerked his thumb towards the door.

“Come by the shop for lunch with us, okay?”

Crowley nodded, then headed for the stairs. He paused, glancing at himself in the mirror. Hair was drying with a nice wave for a change, curling against his shoulders. He puffed it up, admiring the way it bobbed.

That needed something a bit nicer than the jeans and t-shirt plan, so he opened wardrobe two, stripping off the boxers and shirt and reaching for his bra and knickers and that nice red-spotted swishy black summer dress Anathema had shoved at him the week before. Bit of a closer shave, little bit of lippie and mascara, and he headed back out into the day.

Getting his phone fixed was a faff and a half, but by lunchtime, he had it back in working order, managed to pick up some replacement tools, and even got a few jobs lined up for the next day. Not enough to cover the loss of the previous day’s work, but definitely better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

He stopped in at Tesco, grabbing component parts of a healthy lunch and made his way to Anathema’s shop, unsurprised to find a hoard of impressionable kids listening raptly to her as she talked about clubs for seals or something. He slipped through the back into the tiny kitchenette, throwing together a batch of sandwiches for her and the boys while she finished up.

“Knew it would look good on you!”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he agreed, giving his hips a little shake. “S’not bad.”

“Not bad…” She swatted at his skirt. “Legs for days and those snake hips, you’ll have people lining up for you.”

He made a face and handed her a plate. “Where are the hellions?”

“Malingering, probably,” she replied with a grin. “Ooh! Chips!”

“Crisps!” Crowley exclaimed, scandalised. “You heathen.”

“Rich, coming from the coloniser,” she said, snatching the only bag of Ready Salted.

Crowley stacked the other plates and sandwiches, carrying them through. Warlock and Adam were sprawled out on the floor, Adam poring over a magazine and Warlock thumbing at his phone, but both scrambled up at the sight of food.

“I thought we were getting McDonalds today,” Warlock grumbled.

“And I thought I had raised grateful buggers who liked a free lunch.” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

Warlock blushed. “Thanks,” he mumbled, snatching a plate and a bag of crisps.

Adam snickered. “Thanks, Crowley.” He sat back down cross-legged on the floor.

Anathema kept a couple of chairs in the reading nook, so Crowley sprawled down into one of them, balancing his own plate on his knees.

“Not giving you too much trouble?” he inquired.

“Hey!” Both boys looked up indignantly.

“Perfect little gentlemen,” Anathema’s eyes twinkled as she earned an equally indignant “Hey!” from both lads.

“Crowley,” Warlock mumbled around a mouthful of food. “Did you really fall in the dock?”

Crowley shot a glare at her.

“Hey, your dumb ass left the wet clothes lying around?” She booted his Docs. “What was I meant to say? You forgot to take them off before you went for a shower? Oh and they’re washed and hung up to dry now. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thanks.” He glanced back at Warlock. “Yeah, I fell in the dock. I’m fine. Just an accident.”

Warlock wriggled closer. “Everyone’s falling in the water today,” he said, holding up his phone. “Rescue boat just found some old man floating in the water near Hartlepool. All his clothes on and everything.”

Crowley squinted at the local news tweet on the screen, then stared and snatched it from Warlock’s hand. The man from the boat. Whatsisface. Fell. Only without his bowtie and looking a lot paler and shakier as they helped him down from the RNLI boat. Bump on his head too.

“Huh.”

“Huh?” Anathema prompted.

He tilted the phone towards her. “Looks like you might be right about karma being a bitch.”

“Is that–”

“Mm-hm.” He skimmed through the posts about the man and based on the pick-up point and the docks where the man had been brought back to shore, it didn’t take a genius to work out which hospital he’d be swept off to for a check-up. “Weird. They’re saying they don’t know who he is. No name or ID.”

“Yeah.” Warlock shoved some more crisps in his mouth. “He’s got _amnesia._ How cool is that?”

“Not cool!” Anathema exclaimed. “That poor man.”

Crowley tossed the phone back down to Warlock. “Well, I’m going to go and see if I can’t jog his memory,” he said. Both boys looked up at him. “Uh… I mean I’m going to tell them who he is and make sure he’s okay, like a good person does. Obviously.”

The boys had a way of exchanging looks that said they didn’t believe a word of his bullshit.

He made a face at them and scrambled up. “An?”

She flapped a hand. “Go on. If you manage, you can tip me for unpaid babysitting.”

“HEY!”

Crowley grinned as he hurried back out into the street, heading straight to the carpark to pick up his van. Maybe it was daft to go haring off down to Hartlepool on the off-chance that he’d get there before the man got picked up by his crew, but if he got his money back, then it’d be worth it.

Finding a parking space near the hospital was a bit of a bugger, but promise of enough money to feed two pre-pubescent boys for another couple of weeks was a powerful incentive.

A fancy car was parked up outside the hospital when he reached the front doors, definitely fancy enough for someone who had a yacht, and Crowley’s heart leapt. Right hospital. Right place. And if he was in time, definitely the right way to get paid for his trouble.

He ran into the hospital, straight to the reception. “Hi. I’m trying to find Mr. Fell.”

The woman at the desk raised her eyebrows. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific, chick.”

“Oh! Right! Yes” Crowley grinned hopefully. “He’s the man who they picked up out of the sea this morning.”

“Oh!” The woman’s expression brightened. “Are you a friend?”

“Yeah, yeah, course.” He waved towards the wards. “S’he up this way?”

“Ward eight,” she said, pointing to one of the corridors.

Crowley spun, hurrying in that direction, though he almost tripped over his own feet when he saw Gabriel from the yacht coming towards him, frowning, talking into the phone. He was about to say something, flag him down, but Gabriel’s words made him freeze.

“No, not a clue.” Gabriel laughed, all white teeth and polish. “Give it a few days. See if we can’t push things through without him slowing things down. Yeah. Yeah, this’ll make things a _lot_ easier.” He chuckled. “Yeah, I know. I couldn’t have planned it better myself. No, she doesn’t need to know. We’ll come and get him when things are on track.”

Crowley reared sideways out of Gabriel’s path, staring at him.

“No. They don’t need to know. Let them keep their John Doe for now.”

What kind of bastard _did_ that? Yeah, Fell was a bit of an annoying bugger, but _abandoning_ him in hospital because he was inconvenient? He considered yelling at the man, giving him a good, hard kick, but Gabriel – who hadn’t even noticed him despite meeting him the previous day – was already on his way out.

Fine.

Right.

Well, he wasn’t getting his money back. That much was obvious. But maybe he could help Fell out a bit and get a little bit of compensation from him in a different way. Two birds, one stone. And definitely not leave the poor bastard abandoned and neglected in a hospital by a man who was supposed to be his friend.

He strode on down the hall and into the ward. The duty nurse glanced up from her desk. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Fell,” he said. “I’d like to take him home.”

The nurse frowned, puzzled. “Mr. Fell? We don’t have anyone by that name.”

“Yeah, you do,” Crowley leaned on the desk. “Ezra Fell. About six foot tall, pale hair, blue eyes. Probably had a waistcoat on when he was brought in. He was on a boat trip, got picked up in the water this morning.”

The nurse rose at once. “You’re a friend of his?”

“Sort of,” Crowley gave her a lop-sided grin, hoping he didn’t look too shady. “He–” Well, safer lie is better than none, and if anyone questioned it, he could slip the poor bastard some money to make it look convincing until his memory came back. “He’s my kids’ carer. It was his day off. Wanted to go on a boating adventure.” He tried a slightly more convincing smile. “Is he all right?”

The nurse nodded. “He’s had a bump on the head and is a bit confused and disorientated, but he’s doing well.”

“And the memory loss thing? I saw on the news he couldn’t remember anything?”

“It should be temporary.” She gestured for him to go with her. “This way. We’ll see if he can remember you.”

And Crowley, wondering if he was about to throw himself headlong into shit creek, followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where I diverge from the v. uncomfortable "hey baby I'm your husband, let me take full advantage of you" film plot into something slightly different :)


	4. Chapter 4

Everything was dreadfully confused. Between vague memories of the cold of the water and a throbbing head, he – whoever he was – seemed to be having a dreadful day. He. Well, that was some small piece of information, wasn’t it? White, male, apparently middle-aged, soft around the middle, faded ink stains on his fingertips.

“Mr. Fell?”

One of the nurses approached the bed.

He gave her an uncertain look. “Can I help you?”

The nurse smiled. “A friend of yours has come to collect you, Mr. Fell.”

Fell. Was that his name?

He peered beyond the nurse, squinting a little. His friend appeared to be a red-haired lady in a speckled dress. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“Crowley,” the… person said. Sounded more masculine, but that _was_ a dress, wasn’t it? Oh, Lord, his head ached. “Anthony Crowley. Most people just call me Crowley.” They came closer to the bed and abruptly, Fell – yes, that felt right – could see them more clearly. All angles and skinny with red wavy hair around their face. Dark red lips and eyes the colour of fresh honey. “Got a business arrangement, we have.”

Fell nodded slowly. “I beg your pardon, but I can’t remember.”

The person’s face turned sympathetic, not like that tall, dreadfully rude American who had briefly come in earlier. “Yeah, the nurse said. Do you want to get out of here? You can stay at mine until your head clears, if you like. It’ll be a bit more welcoming than this place.”

Fell eyed him uncertainly. “But how can I be sure I know you?” he said. “You… I don’t remember…”

Crowley – if that was their name – smiled crookedly. “You’re Ezra Fell. You _love_ old books. Very smart, bit fussy. First time I met you, you were wearing a tartan bow tie and I thought you looked bloody ridiculous.”

They came a little closer to the bed and Ezra – ah! Yes! That _was_ right. It sounded exactly right – had a recollection of that red hair and water splashing.

“You were on a boat with me,” he said slowly. “The boat I fell off.”

Crowley darted a look at the nurse, then back at Ezra. “Yeah. Yeah, I was.”

And that was how Ezra Fell found himself sitting in a transit van in a pair of flimsy hospital pyjamas, a heavy-duty labourer’s coat draped around his shoulders, driving north. Thankfully, the weather was quite warm and even though everything was a little bit blurry beyond the window, he couldn’t help the relief at being out of the hospital.

“You… um… you said we had an… arrangement?” he began haltingly.

Crowley had slid a pair of sunglasses on, but turned to glance at him. “Mm. Yeah.”

Ezra hesitated, then cautiously asked, “What was it? The arrangement?”

Crowley swung up a sliproad onto a much broader road, accelerating rather alarmingly. “I did some electrical work for you,” they said, looking ahead. “There were some problems with payment, so you’re paying me back by doing some care work for me.”

“I couldn’t pay you?” Ezra flushed. Something about that felt dreadfully right, as if a knot of guilt had just twisted up in his middle. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Crowley glanced at him from the corner of their eye, then one side of their dark red lips turned up. “You do this for me and I’ll call us even.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Ezra nodded at once. “And really, I must thank yo–”

“Don’t do that,” Crowley snorted, waving a hand. “We’ll stop off and pick you up some clothes at the shops and then get you back to mine for a rest. The boys’ll be delighted to see you.”

“The boys?”

Crowley nodded. “My kids. Sort of. Technically.” They scrunched up their face. “Old friend left me them when she shuffled off the mortal coil.”

Ezra stared at him. “You inherited _children_?”

Crowley snorted again and those red lips spread into a grin. “Guardianship. I was a godfather, sort of.”

“I-I see.” Ezra fiddled with his fingers. He had a rather nice gold ring, heavy and solid, and there was something very comforting about twisting it around his finger. “Godfather…” He chewed his lip, then asked, as delicately as he could, “I-I can’t– is it– I’m dreadfully sorry to have to ask but… but what do you prefer?”

“Prefer?” Crowley swung into the fast lane and Ezra clutched at the handle of the door.

“Your… um… pronouns,” Ezra clarified. To his alarm and astonishment, Crowley turned to stare at him. “The road, Crowley! Eyes on the road!”

“Oh! Right!” Crowley looked back at the road, surprise all over their face. “Huh. Didn’t expect you to ask that.”

“I suppose I must know normally, but with this…” Ezra waved helplessly at his head.

Crowley smiled. Not as sharp as the grin and it curved warm lines around their eyes. “He,” he replied. “I tried ‘them’ for a bit, but it didn’t quite sit right.”

Ezra nodded, filing that away for later reference.

They pulled into a huge supermarket after a short drive and Crowley urged him to go and pick out some fresh clothes. “No idea where your house is,” he explained. “And don’t have your keys.”

Ezra hesitated, immediately picking out the cheapest options, but Crowley snorted, snatching them out of his basket and replaced them with things that looked better and more comfortable. A couple of shirts, vests, underwear, trousers.

“It’s not much,” Crowley said, snatching a couple of packs of socks off the hooks. “But it’ll keep you warm and dry and…” He frowned thoughtfully. “Shoes. You’ll need shoes.”

Ezra let Crowley chivvy him along, paying for all the clothes, then shooing him into the toilets to get changed. He dressed as quickly as he could, pulling on the woolly pullover that Crowley had shoved into the basket as well. As far as he could tell, squinting into the mirror, he looked respectable enough, though his hair was a fluffy mess.

Crowley was lounging on a chair by the doors when he emerged, playing on his phone. He glanced up over his sunglasses and grinned. “You don’t look like an escapee from an asylum now,” he said, rolling to his feet. Ezra couldn’t help staring at the way he moved, like liquid captured in skin. Crowley cocked his head. “I never asked – you usually wore specs. Do you need them?”

“I–” Ezra tugged self-consciously at the front of his jumper. “Yes, I do, I’m afraid.”

Crowley at once steered him into the optician section of the shop. Fortunately, they had the cheaper selection of ready-made pairs and Ezra managed to find the correct prescription on his fifth attempt, sighing with relief when the world came back into focus.

“I’m dreadfully sorry about this,” he apologised again as Crowley paid for yet another thing for him. “I’ll pay you back when I can.”

Crowley made a vague sound, leading him back out to the van.

Another fifteen minutes later and they pulled up outside a house in a long terraced row of houses. The street looked identical on both sides, red brick with some black carbonisation, identical narrow blocks of three windows and one door per house. Some of them had more modern windows, but a lot of them looked like something one would find in a period drama.

“This is us,” Crowley said, walking up to one of the doors, painted black with a snake-shaped knocker. He fiddled with the keys, then pushed it open. “Lads? You home?”

As Ezra stepped into the dim little hallway, two boys thundered down the narrow staircase, tumbling over one another like overexcited puppies. They couldn’t have looked more dissimilar if they tried, one with lank black hair and dark, gloomy clothing, the other cherubic and fair, in a bright blue t-shirt and jeans.

Crowley caught each of them fondly by the scruffs of their necks. “These two rascals are Adam”– the blond boy waved in greeting–“and Warlock.”

Ezra eyed him. “That’s quite an unusual name.”

“Picked it m’self.” Warlock ducked his head. “Yeah. S’cooler than Damian.”

Ah. That explained a great deal.

“Well,” Ezra said, “I think it suits you very well.” Warlock beamed at him, easing a little of the knot of terror in his chest. He glanced between them, then at Crowley. “I think your… er… father?”

“Close enough,” Crowley replied with a grin.

Ezra smiled back, encouraged. “Well… I think he told you I’m to help him, in exchange for some work he did for me.”

“Before you fell in the sea?” Warlock said. “It was on the news and everything.”

Crowley took off his glasses, rolling his eyes. “This morbid little monster loves trawling for tragedy,” he sighed. “Yes, before he fell in the sea. Thank you _very_ much for bringing up that painful memory, kiddo.”

Warlock looked as pleased as someone wearing a perpetual glower could.

Ezra tried to smile, tried to think of something nice to say, but his head ached and it was all so unfamiliar and strange and confusing. And somehow, he didn’t see the boys running off, didn’t even notice, only jolting when the door slammed behind him.

“Just breathe,” Crowley said, hand under his arm. “Come on. I’ll take you to your room and you can have a sit, all right?”

Ezra nodded gratefully, his legs shaking as Crowley helped him up the stairs. The place was tiny, a small bathroom tucked at the back of the house and three doors opening off the narrow landing at the top of the stairs. One door had “Do not enter!” signs stuck all over it, with encroaching mess eking out around the frame. A second was closed.

“It’s not much,” Crowley said, leading him into what could only be described as a box room. Textured wallpaper covered every wall, the pattern of flowers picked out under a layer of white paint. A single bed pressed against the wall and Crowley set his bags on the wicker chair in the opposite corner, beside the radiator.

Ezra sank down to sink on the bed, looking around. “It’s… it’s more than enough.”

Crowley shifted on his feet, cleared his throat. “Well… bathroom is through there. Water should be hot if you want a shower or something. Kitchen is downstairs. D’you… I dunno… want something to eat? Or drink? Tea? Might even have some biscuits, if the lads have left any.”

Ezra smiled weakly. “A-a cup of tea would be lovely.”

Crowley nodded at once. “I’ll get that. You just…” He waved a hand. “Make yourself at home.”

His booted feet pounded down the stairs and Ezra got up and closed the door, then sat back down and pressed his hands to his jelly-like knees. Everything was so strange and unfamiliar, he thought, but at least he had someone to help him through it.


	5. Chapter 5

“Please tell me you’re joking!”

Crowley flapped a hand urgently to make her shush. “No! He’s upstairs!”

Anathema stared at him, horrified. The boys had – no doubt – told her and she had come dashing in the back door when the kettle was boiling. “You can’t just go around _abducting_ amnesiac rich people!”

Crowley winced. “It’s _not_ abduction if you invite them to stay at your place and they say yes!”

“It is when they don’t know who you are and when you’re doing it to make them work for you!” She smacked him on the arm. “What kind of example are you setting for the boys?!” She rooted around in the pockets of her skirts. “We’re gonna call the cops and they’ll come and get him and–”

“No!” Crowley grabbed her wrist. “Listen, something is off about all of it.” He glanced towards the kitchen door, then pulled Anathema closer. “When I was at the hospital, I saw another one of the men from the boat.”

“Coming to visit his friend,” she snapped, shaking his hand off.

“No,” he said urgently. “This guy – that American bugger with all the teeth – pretended he didn’t know him. He just… left him there. Said he had some business they could get done while he was out of the way.”

Anathema stared at him. “He _left_ him there?”

“And I think they’re screwing him over,” Crowley confirmed, glancing up when floorboards creaked overhead. Water started running and he sighed. Good. Fell was taking the shower. That meant they wouldn’t be interrupted. “He said something about ‘she’ didn’t need to know. I think that might be their boss, the person who owns the boat.”

“So we contact her?”

“ _How_?” Crowley held up his phone. “You try googling Ezra Fell. This guy’s like a ghost! I don’t even know the name of the boat to track them down!”

Anathema pushed up her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. “And you just have him… in your house. No idea who he is apart from the guy who screwed you over and threw you in the sea?” She arched an eyebrow. “What part of this seemed like a good idea?”

He huffed in frustration. “So I was just meant to _leave_ him there?”

Anathema gaped at him. “Yes! Yes, leave the man with head trauma and memory loss in a _hospital_ like a normal human being!”

“Nggg.” Crowley spun back towards the kettle, aggressively throwing a couple of teabags into the pot. “Well I– it– too late now!” He tilted the kettle, steam coiling up as he filled the teapot. “He’s here and he’s agreed to work to repay what he owes and… well… can’t just turn around and go ‘excuse me, sir, I’m just an electrician you ripped off, but you’ve lost your identity and I don’t suppose you can help me with my childcare provision’, can I?”

Anathema sighed. “You can’t just do anything normally, can you?”

He made a face. “You know me. I just get out there and make some trouble.”

“Crowley…”

He clanked the lid of the teapot shut and scowled down at it. “Look, I didn’t – I wasn’t planning on this, all right? I just–” He huffed, turning around and leaning back against the counter. “I didn’t want to leave him on his own there. I mean, the poor bugger may be a wanker, but he doesn’t deserve to be abandoned like that.”

She gave him a look.

“What?”

“You’re such a soft touch.”

He baulked. “You take that back!”

“Nuh-uh.” She grinned at him, bloody annoying witch that she was. “You _are_. You felt _bad_ for him. You wanted to _help_ him.”

“An, shut up!” he glowered, stomping the two steps across to the cupboard. He paused there, glancing back. “D’you want a cuppa as well?” Her lips twitched again. “And no, that definitely isn’t proving your point, shut up and get out of my house.”

“I’ll go and send the boys back in,” she said, smirking at him. He made a rude gesture at her. She mimed catching it and putting it in her pocket. “Thanks. I’ll keep it for later.”

Crowley grumbled under his breath, adding milk to the mugs before pouring tea into both of them. Ezra Fell didn’t seem like the type of person who would take his tea black. Crowley also added a sugar as well. Good for shock, wasn’t it? Or something? Soothing. Hot drinks and sugar to revive people or some bollocks.

“Is he staying?”

Crowley jumped. “Christ, Adam! We need to get that bell for you.”

The boy grinned from the doorway. “You just don’t pay attention,” he said. “Is he staying? Mr. Fell?”

“For now, yeah.” Crowley grabbed one of the mugs and the packet of digestives. “You and Warlock wait in the living room, all right? I’ll be back down in a minute.” He headed up the narrow staircase, carrying the biscuits and cup into the back room, leaving them on the windowsill. He could hear the water still running. Probably getting the smell of hospital and sea water off him.

Both boys were sitting on the worn leather couch when he stepped into the living room and from the look of it, they’d been whispering to each, judging by the guilty look on their faces.

“No pranking Mr. Fell,” Crowley said before either of them spoke.

“But we weren’t–” Adam began.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “If I was your age and I had an amnesiac in the house, I’d be trying to think of all the ways I could wind him up.” He sat down on the arm of his armchair. “No telling him that I bought you down the market. No insisting I’m your evil stepfather and I make you clean the house. He’s seen your bedroom trying to escape, so he already knows that’s bollocks. And Warlock.” He met the boy’s eyes. “No asking him about falling in the sea, almost drowning, being almost dead or anything like that. Am I making myself clear?”

Warlock’s face fell. “But it’s interesting!”

“Not when it happens to you,” Crowley said sternly. “He’ll be keeping an eye on you when I’m working, okay? I want you on your best behaviour.”

The boys exchanged looks.

“Why’s’he here anyhow?” Adam said, as usual cutting right to the heart of the matter. “Anathema said you knew him.”

“Yeah, I do.” And because he couldn’t lie to the little buggers, he amended, “Sort of. I worked for him for a bit. He’s here because needed somewhere to stay that isn’t a hospital.”

Another pointed exchange of looks. Adam made a face at his brother.

“Is he weird?”

Crowley hesitated, then shook his head. “Just a librarian. Likes books a lot.”

“Cool!” Adam exclaimed as Warlock groaned, “Ugh.”

Crowley looked between them. “Best behaviour?” he prompted.

Both boys rolled their eyes and nodded, which was about as much as he could really hope for. He retreated to the kitchen to get his tea and left them bickering over the Playstation in the living room. The room was quiet and he sagged down to sit at the table, brooding over the cup.

Okay, yes, he had a history of making rash and impromptu decisions, but not many of them ended up with some random person crashing in his guest room. Well… not usually the guestroom. More often than not, the couch. Okay, so it had happened more than once. Wasn’t necessarily a bad trait, but really, he should’ve learned to rein it in since he got the kids.

And Fell… wasn’t as bad as he’d seemed on the boat. Definitely not as tetchy and jumpy. He’d even caught Crowley off-guard, asking about pronouns and everything. He hadn’t even thought someone like Fell would know anything about that kind of things. Books and libraries and being a rich bastard, that’s what he’d expected. Not the careful, timid man who almost seemed afraid to ask for anything and seemed surprised by the least little bit of kindness.

Maybe it was spending a lot of time around other rich arseholes. You didn’t know if you’d get anything from them.

Upstairs, he heard the floorboards creaking and glanced up, tracking Fell’s progress back to the guest room. Five minutes later, footsteps sounded on the stairs and Ezra Fell peered cautiously into the kitchen, mug in one hand, biscuit packet in the other.

He looked better, at least. More colour in his face, though his fair hair was still damp, the curls sticking in all directions.

“I didn’t want to leave crumbs everywhere.” He held out the packet of biscuits.

Crowley grinned wryly. “I have two pre-teens. A few biscuit crumbs are the least of my problems.” He took the packet and motioned for Ezra to join him at the small table. It could squeeze three people at it, at a push, though it usually ended up a battle ground for ketchup and glasses.

Ezra sat, folding his hands on the table top. He’d left off the jumper and with only the shirt and no bow-tie, he looked different. And no glasses either. Must’ve left them upstairs. He still fiddled with the chunky gold ring on his finger.

“I wanted–” he began, just as Crowley started to say, “I think I should–”

Both of them faltered and Crowley waved a hand.

“Go on.”

Ezra stared at him, his eyes wide and anxious. “I just wanted to say you… you’re being very kind. I know you don’t want thanks, but I– I’m very grateful.”

And he said it so sincerely. So _honestly_ and Christ, Crowley couldn’t turn around and say “actually, no, better to send you back to the hospital to be stored like a nuisance because your friend is an arsehole”.

So he smiled like he meant it. “Shut up,” he said, waving his hand again. “S’nothing.”

And to his surprise and relief, Ezra Fell smiled back at him, cautiously and carefully, as if he had forgotten how to.


	6. Chapter 6

“Right.” Crowley was standing in the middle of the kitchen. “Fridge. Freezer. Cooker. Microwave, but don’t trust it, it’s a temperamental bugger and doesn’t cook things through to the middle.” He raised an eyebrow. “I think that’ll be everything you need.”

Ezra nodded, turning on the spot to look at each thing in turn. The kitchen was barely big enough to swing a cat, which made things both simpler and more complicated. “Yes. It should be.”

Crowley was about to leave him in the house, alone, to take care of the children. And apparently cook for them? How on earth was he meant to admit that – as a grown man – he had no clue how to do more than butter bread?

He fidgeted with his ring, then blurted out, “Is there anything I ought to know? Preference or allergies or anything?”

“Nah.” Crowley peeled a hair band off his wrist and twisted his shaggy red hair up into a knot at the back of his head. That and the fine rash of stubble across his cheeks made him seem entirely different from the much more feminine person who had swept him out of the hospital like a knight in shining armour. “Everything we have in the house, the boys eat. Keeps things simple.”

“And they’ll be up soon?”

Crowley tilted his hand from side to side. “Depends. Sometimes, they crawl out of their pits at the crack of dawn. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even know they’re there until noon.”

Ezra nodded again.

“You sure you’re okay to do this? Anathema’s next door. She can help if you need a hand.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” It sat on his tongue like a rock, but Crowley didn’t need to know about the trepidation pooling in his stomach. “And you said the children have your telephone number, in case we need to get hold of you?”

For a long moment, Crowley stared at him, then reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze. And Ezra, though he couldn’t say why, flinched at the contact. Reflex. Instinct. Something else, perhaps. Whatever caused it, it made Crowley recoil, hands held up, rendering himself harmless and open-palmed.

“Sorry,” he said. “Shouldn’t have d–”

“It’s all right,” Ezra hastily interrupted. “My fault. My…” He flapped a hand towards his head, as if that could excuse him anything. “Must just be a little tender after everything that happened.”

Crowley’s brows pulled down in a frown, but he nodded. “Yeah. Must be.” He hooked his thumbs through his belt. “I’ll just…” He nodded towards the door, then asked again, “You _sure_ you’re okay?”

Ezra waved a hand at him. “Yes! I’ll be fine! Go on! You have appointments to keep.”

All the same, as soon as Crowley closed the front door behind him, Ezra crumpled down onto one of the three chairs at the table, breathing hard. He probably wasn’t all right, but it felt better to be doing _something_ than sitting and fretting. He kneaded at his knees, taking unsteady breaths. He simply had to entertain two children for a few hours. That couldn’t be difficult, could it?

First things first, he thought. Tea. Tea always helped. And it was something he could do. A nice, simple sequence of actions. Boil the kettle. Warm then fill the pot. Milk in the mug, tea, one sugar. Easy. Even though it took him several attempts to find both teabags and sugar.

Crowley, it seemed, didn’t go in for storage jars. The teabags were in their original box, the sugar in its crumpled up bag. Even the cupboards had no order to them, bottles and half-empty packets of things stacked in precarious piles that slithered out and spilled between his hands as he tried to catch them.

The crash was apparently enough to rouse the boys because when he looked up from picking things off the floor, they were standing in the doorway, staring.

“Why’re you throwing food on the floor?” The dark-haired boy – Warlock, wasn’t it? – asked.

“Dropped it,” the fair boy replied. Ah. Yes. Adam. That’s right. He crouched down to help Ezra pick up the packets. “Are you all right?”

It was peculiar, Ezra thought, how such a simple question could close up his throat and make his eyes prick.

“Oh. Yes. Yes, quite fine.” He tried to smile. “I just opened the cupboard a little bit fast. Everything caught me by surprise.”

Adam nodded, helping him gather up the packets of spilled biscuits and half-emptied bags of some kind of snackfood. “Yeah. There’s a lot of stuff.” He shoved it back into the cupboard as messily as it had been before and beamed. “Have you had breakfast?”

Ezra shook his head. “I was looking for the teabags,” he admitted.

Adam yanked out one of the sturdy drawers and climbed up on it, peering around into the higher shelves of the cupboard. “Ah!” He grabbed the blue packet. “Here.”

Ezra stared at him, then down at the drawer. “That’s not very safe.”

Adam shrugged. “I didn’t break anything,” he said, then clambered up another drawer to grab a box of Cocopops from the shelf above it. He jumped down and Ezra clutched at his chest, half expecting the boy to turn his ankle or crash to the floor. “D’you like Cocopops?”

“I– er– I’ve never tried them.”

Warlock made a shocked sound. “You what?” He pushed by Adam to another cupboard, rattling around in a higgledy-piggledy mess of crockery and glasses, coming up triumphantly with three bowls. “We’re all having Cocopops!”

Better, Ezra thought helplessly as they clambered over the furniture like monkeys, to let them take the lead. He was chased to one of the chairs, a bowl of small chocolatey grains presented to him and – with great ceremony – Warlock poured milk into the bowl, a generous measure spilling over onto the table too.

“It turns the milk into chocolate,” he said conspiratorially.

Ezra gave him a cautious smile. “I see.”

“An’ you want to eat them before they get too mushy,” Adam added, jabbing a spoon into the bowl. “They’re not as good when they’re mushy.”

The cereal lived up to its name, certainly, and Ezra could see why children might enjoy the messy chocolatey flavour. Out of politeness, he ate several spoonfuls, making appropriate sounds of appreciation, until the boys – clearly satisfied – threw themselves into their own chairs and dug into their own bowls.

“Crowley says you can’t remember,” Warlock said around a mouthful of cereal. “Is it weird?” His brother must’ve kicked him, because he yelped and looked under the table, offended. “What?”

“Crowley said not to ask!” Adam exclaimed. “Stop being creepy!”

“You’re not my boss,” Warlock snorted, glaring at him, but there was something in the tremble of his lip that seemed awfully familiar to Ezra. Not fear or anger or sadness. Embarrassment. The flush on his cheeks said the same.

“It _is_ a bit weird,” Ezra said carefully.

Warlock’s eyes came back to his face, his expression brightening. “Do you remember what a toilet is?” he leaned forward, propping both arms on the table. “Can you remember how to fart?”

That made Ezra laugh in amused surprise. “Yes,” he said, “and yes. It’s just…” he waved a hand. “Names. People. Places. I don’t remember you two, certainly.”

“Well, you never met us before,” Adam said, “so that’s all right. You remember Crowley, though.”

Ezra nodded. It made him wonder how Crowley had made a strong enough impression on him, for his memory to cling onto honey-brown eyes and copper-red hair, when he couldn’t even remember his own name. “Yes. We were on a boat.”

Warlock’s face lit up. “Were you there when Crowley fell in the water too?”

That made Ezra frown, bewildered. “I… I don’t think so. I know _I_ fell, but–”

“He did too,” Warlock said enthusiastically.

“Yesterday,” Adam added. “In the morning.”

“Oh.” Ezra frowned. “Was he all right? The water was very cold.”

“He’s Crowley,” Adam said. “He’s always fine.”

Ezra managed a wan smile, but couldn’t help thinking that if Crowley had to depend on an unpaying customer to look after his children, maybe things weren’t as fine as the boys seemed to assume. Or maybe he was reading too much into things and Crowley was simply being kind because Ezra’s own circumstances were so abysmal.

He got up to make himself a cup of tea as the boys bickered over their breakfasts, concentrating on each step. Nice and simple parts of a routine he knew like the back of his hand. The mug – a faded red and white Sunderland FC one – was warm against his palms when he turned back around.

“So,” he said, hoping he sounded at ease. “What do you boys want to get up to today?”

They exchange looked, Warlock digging peanut butter out of a jar with his finger.

“Dunno,” Warlock said. “Adam’s the best at thinking of stuff.”

“Well…” Adam straightened up in his chair like a general preparing for command. “S’raining, so we can’t do outside stuff.” He frowned as Ezra. “Maybe you should choose, Mr. Fell.”

Ezra hastily sipped his tea, trying to think of something. “Um… is there a museum or something?”

A heated debate occurred over the dregs of chocolatey milk.

“Is it… learning stuff?” Adam asked suspiciously.

“Not necessarily? There may be some experiments and some horrible stuff, though.” Ezra replied and that seemed to satisfy them.

Twenty minutes later, they were dressed and giving him all the instructions he needed to get into the city centre and to the museum. Crowley had, mercifully, left some change for bus or metro fares and all things considered, it seemed far easier to point them in a direction and then follow after them.

If only it stayed that simple.

Over the next couple of hours, Ezra was mortified to realise he had no idea what children might find interesting in a museum or how they would demonstrate their interest. 

It had a replica foghorn. Of course they liked it and demonstrated how it worked several times. They were young boys. Why wouldn’t they? And then there were grubby hands on the displays and Warlock pressing his nose to the glass, peering in at the apparently famous stuffed lion. And then, for some unknown reason, they decided to divide and conquer and Ezra was left alone and trying to decide which boy was more likely to cause trouble.

Eventually, he caught up – breathless – with Warlock in the astronomy section, playing on the interactive display, making constellations whizz across the screen. The boy shot a brilliant grin at him.

“Do you like the stars?” Ezra asked hopefully.

“Yeah.” A flare of green appeared on the screen. “S’the rora borealis.” He looked up at Ezra. “I saw it once. In the sky.”

“Oh?”

Warlock nodded, though his face fell. “Ages ago. Crowley took us out to see it. All the way up the hills where it was dark.”

Why that would’ve brought him down, Ezra couldn’t tell. Best he could do was awkwardly pat the boy on the shoulder. “I’m sure that was very special.”  
“Ngh.” Warlock agreed, flicking at the screen again.

“You don’t happen to know where your brother went, do you?”

Warlock made a face. “The jungle.”

“Jungle?”

Warlock grabbed him by the arm and pulled him on through the museum, forcing him into a rapid trot to keep up with the boy. They must’ve been to the museum before because Warlock led him straight through a pair of doors and into what seemed to be a vast greenhouse, humid and warm and full of life.

And there, as promised, Adam was sitting in the middle of it, scribbling furiously in a notebook.

“Told you,” Warlock said smugly. “Adam!”

His brother’s head shot up and he hastily stuffed his book into his backpack. “Told you to leave me alone!”

“Mr. Fell’s hungry,” Warlock lied cheerfully.

“I never said–” Ezra began.

Adam huffed. “Did Crowley give you money for chips?”

“Ah. Well.” Ezra hesitated. “There’s enough for fares. Not chips.”

“We can walk back,” Adam declared. “It’s not far. I think you should have chips.”

“I’m not sure Crowley would–”

“He told you not to give us food?” Adam looked shocked. “That’s not good.”

“No, I’m not saying–” Ezra tried again.

“Yeah, we need food,” Warlock agreed. “We’re growing boys.”

“Yes, I know, but it’s raining and there’s plenty at the house if we–”

“But I’m hungry now,” Adam said. “Can’t we have something now?”

“Yeah!” Warlock nodded enthusiastically. “They do them with curry sauce down the road.”

“Curry sauce on chips?” Ezra stared between them, his heart drumming. Technically, he ought to put his foot down and make it clear who was in charge, but he had never _heard_ of curry sauce on chips before. “That must be dreadful.”

The boys exchanged a look and he had the sudden sinking feeling that they had spotted a chink in his already-loose armour.

“It’s _amazing_ ,” Warlock insisted. “The best!”

“An’ you can dip your chips in the sauce an’ you don’t waste anything!” Adam added. “An’ if you’re lucky, they’ll give you the crunchy batter bits too.”

Ezra’s stomach betrayed him by giving a growl. “Oh for Heaven’s sake! All right! Let’s go for chips!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mention of terminal illness and bereavement. Not extensively, but it _is_ there.

Crowley was barely across the threshold when Anathema jangled up the hall and smacked him up the back of the head.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“You left Ezra alone with them all day!”

Crowley darted a guilty look towards the living room, where he could hear the sounds of Mario Kart playing. “I had to work and he said it was okay,” he said, as if that was a reasonable excuse for leaving his kids in the care of an amnesiac librarian. He held up his phone defensively. “Warlock kept me up to date on what they were doing.”

“Did they mention the part where they press-ganged Ezra into taking them for fries?” She glowered at him. “Or the fact that the poor man didn’t know how to light a gas stove and singed his eyebrows?”

Crowley groaned. “No, they definitely didn’t.” He shoved open the living room door and both boys looked up, guilty grins all over their faces. “Chips?”

“He was hungry!” Adam said, a bold move.

“And that’s nothing to do with you and Warlock wanting chips again? You know the rules!”

Both boys grumbled a half-hearted apology.

“And the cooker?”

Warlock stifled a snigger in the back of his hand and Adam thumped him on the arm, pulling on his best angelic expression.

Crowley pressed his forefinger and thumb to his eyelids. “Right. Upstairs. No games consoles.”

“What–”

“But that’s not–”

“Upstairs,” he repeated, leaning into the room and baring his teeth. “And no games consoles. Do I have to tell you again?”

To their credit, they did as they were told, though Adam paused in the doorway. “He _was_ hungry, though.”

Crowley waved him towards the narrow staircase, then glanced at Anathema. “He upstairs?”

She shook her head, pointing towards the kitchen. “Adam came to get me after the stove incident. I think he felt guilty.”

Crowley exhaled noisily. “Thanks. For coming, I mean.”

She made a face at him. “Someone has to check in on you sometimes.” She knocked his arm more gently. “I gave him some lotion. He should be fine.”

Crowley nodded, then headed along the hall to the kitchen, pushing the door cautiously open. “Ezra?”

The man was sitting at the table, hands wrapped around a mug, and when he looked up, Crowley could see where he’d singed his hair and brows. The skin around his eyes was pinker too and his smile tauter than usual.

“I’m afraid I rather made a mess of things,” he said, his voice as stiff as his expression.

Crowley crossed the floor and sank down into the chair next to his. “No,” he said at once. “No, I should’ve given you more warning about the boys. I forget– it’s just–” He shook his head. “It’s no problem, really.” He tried to grin. “You got through the day and all three of you are alive and intact and everything…” He hesitated, then leaned closer. “Where’s that lotion An gave you? I think you missed a spot.”

Ezra offered a tube and Crowley unscrewed it, dabbing a spot of the bright pink cream onto a particularly red patch. Ezra winced.

“Should’ve shown you how the hob works,” Crowley muttered, guilt bubbling up. “Should’ve remember not everyone plays with fire on a daily basis.”

“I ought to have used common sense,” Ezra demurred, looking down into his cup. “For Heaven’s sake, it’s just a four-ringed Bunsen burner.”

Crowley sat back down. “Just between you and me,” he murmured conspiratorially, “and I know your memory is all buggered and everything, but you actually left school quite a long time ago. Forgetting the hazards of a Bunsen burner happens after twenty-odd years.”

To his horror, Ezra looked at him, affronted and stricken. “Are you saying I’m _old_? Oh Lord, I hadn’t… oh no…” He touched his face. “I didn’t have my glasses on in the bathroom. Is it awful?”

“No! No, not at all!” Crowley exclaimed. “I mean, not young, but who is these days and you’re definitely not… wait…”

Ezra’s lips were twitching and he ducked his head.

 _Oh, you cheeky little bugger_. Crowley leaned closer, staring at him. “Are you winding me up, Mr. Fell?”

Ezra met his eyes again and there was that lip-twitch. “Not at all.”

Crowley sat back in his seat, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “And here I was, thinking they’d completely broken you.” He shook his head. “I’m going to wring Anathema’s neck.”

“It was… rather a lot,” the man admitted. “It seems I’m not very proficient at child-wrangling, though apparently they were right when they said you would… oh, what’s that phrase they used? Go radgie about it all?” He groped on the table, retrieving his glasses, and slipped them back on. “Still, if you can’t learn a thing or two from a couple of children…” He lifted his round shoulders. “I like to think I’m an old dog learning new tricks.”

That earned a laugh. “Careful of the tricks they’re teaching you.” He nodded towards Ezra’s face. “You’re meant to have _two_ eyebrows.”

Ezra winced, reaching up and gingerly fingering his brow. “They _did_ try and help,” he confessed, “but I got rather flustered. Not very good with… well… manual things, as far as I can tell.”

“And Warlock helped by laughing himself sick, I noticed.”

Ezra raised and lowered the wispy remains of his eyebrows. “To be honest, my dear, can you really blame them?”

My dear? That was new.

“Mm.” Crowley glanced upwards. “Look, if it’s too much bother, Anathema loves having them down at her shop and they have a youth group they go to on Mondays and Fridays all summer.”

To his surprise, Ezra shook his head. Some of the tense lines on his face had smoothed out. “It helps,” he said, “having something to occupy me. If I had to spend the entire day looking inward and seeing nothing but the blank spots where my memories should be, I think I might run mad.”

Crowley propped his arm on the table, raising his eyebrows. “So you’re saying I’ll be doing you a favour to let you look after the boys who helped you burn your eyebrows off?”

Ezra gave him a look that could only be called imploring. It reminded Crowley of that sword-fighting cat in Shrek. “I might not be very good at it, but I’m sure I can find some interesting things to keep them entertained.”

“As long as you don’t have to cook?”

Ezra shot a glare at the cooker. “I’m sure we could come to some kind of working arrangement.”

Crowley snorted. “Don’t challenge it,” he said. “You won’t win.”

That made Ezra smile, a warmer, brighter smile than the day before. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He glanced down at his tea. “This has gone stone cold.” He got up. “Do you want a cup?”

Crowley shrugged. “Why not?”

He couldn’t help watching the other man as he carefully and methodically boiled the kettle, warmed the pot and made the tea. Precise and fussy, just like he had been on the boat, but somehow, the jittery edges were gone.

“Warlock said you took them to the museum,” he said, as Ezra carried the two mugs back over, a satisfied look on his face.

“Oh, yes.” The man nodded, sitting back down. “Since it was raining, it seemed sensible to stay indoors and they both seemed to enjoy it.”

“Yeah.” Crowley pulled the bag of sugar across the table towards him, tipping some into his cup. “We used to go a lot before…” He hesitated. “It was a good distraction for them, before they came to me permanently.”

Ezra sipped his tea. “If you don’t mind me asking,” he said after a moment of silence, “how long have you… had them?”

“Part-time started five years ago,” Crowley murmured, stirring at his tea. He’d moved into the room that was currently Ezra’s, living out of a couple of cases, while the front room was practically a private palliative care unit. “Their mum… it’s coming up on three years now.”

“She trusted you a great deal,” Ezra said quietly and somehow, it twisted right between Crowley’s ribs like a knife.

“Ehhhh.” He waved a hand. “Nah. I was… convenient.”

Ezra gazed at him and the penetrating calm of those eyes was worse than the knife between the ribs feeling. “They’re very charming young men, those boys of yours,” he said, as if he hadn’t just knocked the wind from Crowley’s lungs. “Very eloquent and bright. You’ve done a good job there. I’m sure their mother would be very proud.”

Crowley groaned into his cup, heat crawling up his neck. What was he meant to do with _that_? He’d just done what he had to do. He’d followed Lucy and stood by her, even if she could be a bit of a cow sometimes, and yeah, so he’d taken on her kids. So? Wasn’t that what any decent godfatherish person would do?

“Yeah,” he finally agreed grumpily, “they’re all right.”

And Ezra smiled then as if he’d won some kind of argument that Crowley didn’t even realise they were having.

“Oh shut up,” Crowley grumbled.

“Didn’t say a thing,” Ezra said with a prim little sniff that should have been infuriating, but somehow was daft and sweet.

“Course you didn’t.” Crowley made a face at him “Look all innocent, but I get the feeling you’re a menace.”

Ezra’s eyes went wide with that same wounded, shocked expression. “I’ll have you know I’m an _angel_.” He paused, frowning “Possibly. I may need to get back to you on that.”

Crowley cupped his chin in his hand, grinning at him. “Angel. Right.” He shook his head, trying to fight down the smile as Ezra gave an odd little wiggle of delight, looking pleased with himself. “Nightmare, that’s what you are.”

If anything, Ezra’s gleeful wiggle and the mischievous glint in his bright blue eyes intensified.

Well, Crowley thought, unable to stop himself from smiling back, _shit_.


	8. Chapter 8

Tracy wasn’t a fan of the new arrangement.

Not that she would say out loud, of course. Well, not above decks, definitely. And not anywhere that snotty Mr. Gabriel might hear her. She _was_ a professional after all.

But she definitely didn’t like what was going on.

Five full days now, and no word when Mr. Fell would be well enough to come back. They’d kept him in the hospital, Mr. Gabriel had said. Under observation. He’d banged his head when he was in the water and the chill and the shock had done a number on him. What was it he’d said? “He’s no spring chicken, am I right?”

Rich, coming from a man almost the same age as Ezra.

On top of everything else, Mr. Gabriel had them head back down to London. Didn’t even wait for Mr. Fell to get better. Just upped anchor and away they went, which didn’t seem right. They didn’t even deliver any of his pyjamas or some of his books to the hospital or anything that a normal person would do for a sick friend.

The rest of the crew didn’t know what to make of it either, especially below decks. Mr. Fell never bothered any of them. Always polite and awkward, he hardly caused any bother to anyone.

Mr. Gabriel, on the other hand…

She carried the tray of jugs, cups and saucers into the dining room that looked like more of a board room now. There were projections on the walls and men in suits and every one of them turned and stared at her as she carried the tray over to the table. As if they thought she was some kind of secret agent spying on them or something.

“Thought you and your friends might like a cuppa,” she said with a warm smile.

Mr. Gabriel did that smiling-without-teeth thing. Made him look like he was in a laxative advert, that did. “That’s great, but we’re kind of in the middle of something, Miss Potts.” He waved a hand towards the door. “Run along, why don’t you?”

“Of course, Mr. Gabriel. I’ll just bring the coffee and tea in, shall I?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

When she returned with the pots of tea and coffee, all the projections were off, and him and his friends watched her set the jugs down on the table and all the way back to the door.

She paused there. “Before your meeting goes on, I thought you might like to know that Her Upstairs was on the phone,” she said.

Mr. Gabriel straightened up in his seat. Nice to see he could panic as much as anyone. “Is that right?”

She nodded. “I told her Mr. Fell was still in hospital, but she said she’d like an update from you when you have a minute.”

Mr. Gabriel’s mouth went into a thin line. “Thank you, Miss Potts. I’ll call her later.”

She gave him her favourite customer service smile. “You do that, pet.” She closed the door behind her, then pulled a notebook out of her pocket and scribbled down what she could remember off the projections. Well, if he was going to treat her like a spy, about bloody time she played the part.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with warnings for bullying, latent and blatant homophobia (including one use of a region-accurate slur) and casual racism.

“Hello.” Ezra shook out the damp cloth in his hand. He’d set to work on the kitchen as soon as the boys had left for their youth group in the morning, and so far, he had barely made a dent. “This is the Crowley residence. How may I help you?”

“Christ, angel, you sound like I hired a butler,” Crowley said, his amusement audible.

“Oh! Crowley!” Ezra set down the cloth. “You really should stop calling me that, you know.”

Crowley laughed. “Don’t blame me. That’s what you called yourself. Listen, I need to ask a favour.”

Ezra brightened. Aside from distracting the boys with a day out at the beach and being introduced to the frankly alarming driving game all three of the family seemed to enjoy on Sunday night, Crowley had asked almost nothing of him, even though he was _meant_ to be working off his debt. “Anything, my dear.”

On the other end of the phone, there was a stifled sound. “Ngk.”

“What was that?”

Crowley made one of his habitual groaning sounds. “Stabbed my thumb on a wire is all. Listen, I had a call from the youth group. One of their leaders wants a word about the boys, but I don’t think I’m going to make it back in time. Could you go and see what the bugger wants?”

“I– er–” Ezra fumbled with the cloth on the table. “I don’t know if it’s really my place. After all, I’m barely more than a childminder.”

“I know.” Crowley sounded so woebegone, “but this bloody job is a nightmare and if I can’t finish up in time and there’s something the boys forget to tell me and they end up losing out–”

“I’ll take care of it,” Ezra said at once. After all, it couldn’t be anything serious, really. If it was, then Crowley would have dropped everything. Probably simply details of the schedule for the coming weeks. Yes, that sounded right. After all, it was a large group and they were good boys. “Don’t you worry, dear boy.” He paused, frowning. “Remind me. Which bus do I need to get?”

He tore a sheet off the magnetic notebook on the fridge and scribbled down the directions.

“Thanks for this, angel.” The relief was tangible in Crowley’s voice. “I owe you.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Ezra said. “Shall I bring them home after? Or wait for you there?”

“I should be there to pick you all up,” Crowley replied at once. “There’s a coffee shop over the road. You can wait there and I’ll come and pick you all up when the boys are done.”

Waiting in a coffee shop sounded rather tedious, if he didn’t have something to entertain himself. He hummed thoughtfully. There _was_ that rather dusty bookshelf in the living room.

Ezra closed up the cupboards in the kitchen, draped the cloth over the tap, then hurried through to the living room and scanned the sparse selection of volumes. To his surprise, he spotted a couple of Ian Fleming books. They were worn and dog-earned, some of them frayed down the spine, but one or two were fully-intact.

Armed with them, the directions, and some money Crowley had left ‘in case of emergencies’, he headed out into the day.

By car, the youth group was only fifteen minutes away, but it took Ezra nearly forty minutes on the bus. He’d accompanied Crowley to pick them up on Friday and had steered the shopping trolley for them while Crowley and the boys made a chaotic attempt at buying food for the house. That was when he had slipped a few extra items into the cart, all of which had so far gone unnoticed. He had plans, after all, to keep the boys occupied since he would have them again all day tomorrow.

The centre where they attended the youth group probably had been a working mens’ club in the past. The building was worn and shabby, but big enough to deal with an excitable hoard of pre-teens for several hours.

Ezra trotted in, pausing at a peculiar stickiness on the door handle. For some reason, he had the oddest feeling he should have a handkerchief. He frowned, shaking it off, and scanned the hall for the boys, startled to see both Adam and Warlock sitting sullenly against the side wall, while every other child in the hall was occupied with crafts or playing ball.

“What on earth…” He hurried towards them. “Boys, are you–”

A man stepped between him and them, eyes screwed up suspiciously. “And who might you be, _sir_?”

Ezra came up short. “Mr. Crowley asked me to come on his behalf.”

“Ah, he did, did he?” The man tutted disdainfully. “Couldn’t even be bothered to take the time to deal with his delinquent children.”

Ezra recoiled as if he had been slapped. Of all the terrible, rude, obnoxious things to say. “I _beg_ your pardon? Who are you?”

“R.P. Tyler.” The man clicked his heels like some kind of soldier coming to attention. “I’m the centre supervisor this afternoon.”

“So you’re the one who called Anthony?” Ezra straightened up to match his posturing. “And what seems to be the problem?”

“Brawling, sir,” Tyler said with a disdainful curl of his lip. “These little lads have no concept of sharing or of discipline.”

Every word was tilting Ezra more in the direction of snarling at the man. He shoved passed him, hurrying over to the boys, startled to see scratches on Adam’s hands, his book clutched tightly against his chest, and even more surprised to see the way Warlock was holding onto his arm.

“Are you all right, Adam?” he asked softly, crouching down to the boy’s level.

Adam nodded, but his lips trembled and he blinked hard as if fighting down tears.

“They stole his notebook,” Warlock growled, looking uncannily like his guardian. “They were reading his stuff and they wouldn’t give it back. They were laughing at it.”

“You were trying to get it back?” Ezra’s heart clenched painfully, the breath squeezed from his body at the very thought, and he reached out, smoothing Adam’s curls. “Oh, my dear. No one should take what’s yours away from you. _No one_.”

“I bit him,” Warlock said with satisfaction. “The one that took it.”

“And it served him right,” Adam muttered.

“I know,” Ezra murmured, wishing he had the right to gather the boy in a hug and reassure him, but that wasn’t his place. “And then _that_ fellow told you off?”

Both boys nodded.

Well, if there was one thing that Ezra could not stand, it was a bully, especially someone who bullied people and lorded their position over people, cowing them with fear and threats.

“Fetch your coats, boys,” he said gently. “We’ll go somewhere else.” He straightened up and returned to R. P. Tyler, centre supervisor. “Tell me, Mr. Tyler, did it escape your attention that some other children had stolen Adam’s possessions and he was simply trying to get them back?”

Tyler huffed. “Asked with his fists, more like, and if his… parent was anyone else, I would have words with them about curbing his more… unnatural interests.”

Ezra’s nails were cutting into his palms. “I don’t take your meaning, _sir_.”

“Everyone knows he and his brother spend an indecent amount of time with that… foreign young lady with the oogie-boogie shop.”

“Foreign young lady,” Ezra echoed, wondering why the rest of the hall seemed to have faded to silence. Perhaps it was only him who had noticed.

“Mind you, with a role model like their…” Tyler’s face twisted in distaste. “Well, he’s…” He made a very familiar gesture with his hand, a gesture that brought back schoolyard taunts like a rush of icy water in Ezra’s veins. “Can’t really expect better of them with a whoopsie for a male role model.”

Ezra knew he wasn’t the most imposing of people. He had been called soft more times than he could count. And yet in that moment, a white-hot wall of fury blinded him and he pulled himself up, taut as a soldier. “You, _sir_ , have no place being in this hall,” he snarled, grabbing the man and frogmarching him towards the doors.

“What in God’s name–”

Ezra shoved the man out into the hall, his glare making the man snap his mouth shut. “Anthony Crowley is a decent, hard-working and loving parent to those two boys. Whatever his preferences, whatever his lifestyle, if you believe that has _any_ impact on how well he has raised those children, then you are sorely mistaken.”

“I hard–”

“You hardly should present such outdated views to children? Yes, I quite agree,” Ezra snarled. “In fact, I believe I shall be putting in a formal complaint to the organisers of this particular youth group, expressing my concerns at your frankly outdated and ludicrous opinions.”

“But–”

“But you should apologies to Miss Device for slandering her and implying she was anything more than a kind-hearted, hard-working member of your local community?” Ezra’s heart was thundering in his ears. “Quite right?”

Tyler – flushed and flustered – edged sideways, scurrying back towards the door. “You have no reason–”

Ezra laughed outright, staring at him. “I have no reason? When you allow children to bully another child for the company he keeps and for his parentage?” He shook his head, disdain all over his face as Tyler groped for the door. “Don’t imagine you’ve heard the last of me, Mr. Tyler. I will have _words_.”

Tyler managed to wrench the door open to find Adam and Warlock standing on the other side, staring, wide-eyed.

Fighting down the flush of embarrassment at being caught being so overbearing, Ezra beckoned. “Come on, boys. We’re leaving.”

They ran to his sides at once and he laid a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Mr. Tyler.” Ezra inclined his head. “Take care.”

Without another word or a backwards glance, he steered both boys towards the main doors of the centre and as soon as they stepped outside, both of them exploded in fits of awe.

“That was amazing!” Warlock grabbed at Ezra’s arm. “He looked like he was gonna pee his pants.”

“I only told him what he needed to hear,” Ezra demurred.

“Still wicked,” Adam said more quietly, but his smile had returned, then he looked beyond Ezra. “Crowley!”

Right enough, Crowley’s van was parked at the pavement and the man himself was halfway out of the driving seat. He looked far to sleek for someone come from so many hours of work, his hair a neat bun and his black jeans and t-shirt pristine. “All right, lads?” he glanced up, meeting Ezra’s eyes. “Any bother?”

Ezra shook his head. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he said, nudging the boys down the steps. “And you have impeccable timing.”

“Managed to finish up earlier than expected,” Crowley replied, straightening up from the van and mussing each of the boys’ hair. “Got tipped extra for a job well done on a rush as well, so I’m thinking we go for takeaway.”

Any shade of misery that might have been clinging to the boys evaporated in an instant.

“McDonalds!” Adam whooped.

“No! KFC!” Warlock protested, smacking his arm.

Crowley leaned down conspiratorially. “I was thinking… Chinese.”

Clearly, that was something of a treat, because both the boys yelled and tackled him against the side of the van, shouting out what they wanted while Crowley feigned struggling and laughing. He met Ezra’s eyes over their heads and raised an eyebrow.

“What about you, angel? Do you fancy Chinese food? My treat?”

Ezra couldn’t help the silly soft smile that spread on his face. “I think I could manage a spring roll or two. If it’s your treat, I mean.”

Crowley smiled at him and he really did have such a lovely smile. “Spring rolls it is, then,” he said, then squirmed free of the boys. “Gentlemen. Your chariot awaits.”

The boys scrambled into the narrow backseat of the van and Ezra circled around to the other side, climbing into the passenger seat. He fastened his seatbelt and folded his hands in his lap.

“Should I thank you?” Crowley murmured, as he peeled the van away from the kerb.

Ezra glanced at him. “For what?”

“The boys. Taking care of them for me.”

Era shook his head with a small smile. “Better not.” He reached down and patted Crowley’s hand on the gearstick. “Once we started the cycle, we’d never stop.” He turned his smile ahead, remembering the gratifyingly mortified look on Tyler’s face. “Anyway, it was my pleasure.”

At his side, Crowley chuckled. “I’m sure it was.”


	10. Chapter 10

It had been a bastard of a day.

The rewiring job he’d signed up for was proving to be even more of a bugger than expected and Crowley’s back was aching from being wedged halfway into a cupboard for most of the afternoon. He hated bringing jobs like that home with him and was half-tempted to hide down the pub for half an hour until he wound down a bit.

But he couldn’t and wouldn’t, not when the boys would be waiting for him and Ezra had warned him via Warlock to expect something… interesting for dinner. He’d sent back a teasing message, asking if it would require the sacrifice of a second eyebrow. Twenty minutes later – and clearly with Warlock’s help – a poop emoji arrived on his phone.

The moment he opened the front door, though, the exhaustion evaporated at the sound of the boys laughing in the kitchen.

Adam poked his head around the doorframe then beamed. “It’s Crowley!”

Crowley raised a hand in greeting, setting down his toolbox. “So what am I being poisoned with tonight?”

“Such faith,” Ezra’s voice drifted through from the kitchen. “Boys…”

Warlock and Adam crashed out into the hall, tackling him.

“Blindfold!” Adam said, waving a scarf. “It’s a surprise!”

Crowley eyed them suspiciously. “Is this when you walk me out into the back lane and leave me there?”

Warlock’s eyes lit up but Adam shook his head with a stern look. “Awww!”

“No!” Adam insisted. “We made dinner.”

“You?” Crowley sniffed the air. “I don’t smell chicken nuggets.”

“It’s _fancy_ dinner,” Warlock said, tugging him down so Adam could tie the scarf in place.

Together, they steered him through into the kitchen, only once knocking him into the doorframe, and guided him over to the table. He braced a hand on one of the chairs, shifting it and cautiously sitting down.

“Is something going to explode in my face?”

“That was only one time!” Warlock protested.

“One time was enough,” Crowley retorted. “Angel?”

The shuffle of feet and scrape of chairs suggested people were sitting down, then someone behind him tugged the scarf and lifted it away, revealed a table covered in plates of sushi. Clearly hand-made and well-packed by enthusiastic eleven-year-olds. But recognisably sushi, something he only treated himself to once in a blue moon.

The boys, sitting on the two other chairs, stared hopefully at him.

“D’you know what it is?” Adam said.

He nodded, a lump in his throat. “Yeah. Thanks.” He twisted on the chair to look up at Ezra standing just behind him. “Did you put them up to this?”

“They may have mentioned you liked it,” Ezra said with an equally hopeful little smile. “I had… very vague recollections of going to a sushi-making class. I thought it might be fun for them to make it for you.”

As well as saving them the cost of eating out and keeping the boys entertained too.

“It’s great,” he said, trying to steady the wobble in his voice. “Thank you.”

The boys beamed and burst into excited chatter about how they’d picked out all the stuff to go inside and how Mr. Fell showed them how to squish the rice onto the seaweed stuff and then roll everything into tubes and cut it into bits. Mr. Fell, who was – as they pushed plates at Crowley – tipping battered stuff into the deep-fat fryer on the oven.

“Tempura as well?” he said, unable to hide the smile. “You lot are trying to make me burst.”

“A little crisped prawn hurt no one,” Ezra said, but he sounded pleased. He glanced over and waved a hand. “Do go on. There’s plenty for everyone.”

Technically, he was wrong. There was too much for everyone, but that didn’t stop them stuffing their faces to the point of groaning. So much so that the boys stumbled away up to their room to watch a DVD, which Crowley translated as lying in a heap on their beds while a film played and they digested like snakes.

“Leave that,” he said to Ezra, who was piling the dishes by the sink. “It can wait.”

Ezra sighed with relief. “Oh, thank Heavens. I think I need to follow the boys’ lead. Certainly undo a button or two.”

Crowley couldn’t help noticing Ezra’s cheeks flushed as he said it. “Well,” he said, getting up from his chair and clearing his throat. “Could take a well-earned collapse on the couch? I’ve got a bottle of Scotch tucked away, if you fancy a nightcap?”

A smile lit Ezra’s face. “Oh, that would be lovely.” He glanced upwards, then back at Crowley. “They’re lovely boys, but they _are_ very rambunctious.”

Crowley sniggered, dragging his chair over to climb up and reach into the top cupboard. “Rambunctious,” he echoed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a living person say that.”

Ezra huffed. “My dear, I have never heard half the terms that come out of your mouth, so you hardly have room to talk.”

“Well, yeah.” Crowley hopped down, bottle in hand. “Be a bit of a boring world if everyone was the same, though.” He pulled open the dish cupboard, then blinked in surprise. Didn’t even need to go digging. The plates were all stacked in a plate rack and the glasses on a miniature shelf cobbled together from something that looked like the old newspaper rack from the living room. “You’ve been busy.”

“Um. Well… I hope you don’t mind.” Ezra gave him a cautious smile. “I rather like organising things.”

There spake the fussy librarian he’d met a week ago.

With two glasses in hand, Crowley shrugged. “You’re making my life easier. Why would I complain?” He nodded towards the door. “Living room?”

Ezra bustled ahead of him, opening the door for them both and trotted in. He didn’t notice Crowley dipping down into his toolbox before he followed, too busy arranging himself respectably on the squashy formerly-cream, now-all shades of the rainbow couch in the corner closest to Crowley’s chair.

Now that he thought to look, Crowley could see the bits of expanded space where the disused newspaper rack had been and some of the furniture had been carefully moved, somehow giving more space despite almost the same amount of furniture.

“You must be a marvel at Tetris,” he said, flopping down into his armchair and flinging his leg over the arm.

“Tetris?” Ezra’s brow furrowed.

“S’a game.” Crowley balanced the glasses on the arm of the chair beside his knee and carefully poured generous amber measures into each of them. Once the cap was back on the bottle, he proffered one of the glasses to Ezra. “You have different shaped blocks lowering down and you have to make them fit together to keep your number of rows low enough.”

Ezra laughed. “It sounds much more my speed than your racing games.”

“I dunno, angel,” Crowley slouched back with a sigh, the knots in his back crunching loose against the arm of the chair. “You were doing pretty well at it the other night.”

“Oh, hush,” Ezra scolded, though Crowley could recognise that start of a smile, the one he perpetually tried to hide. His happy face, not something he showed often.

“Here.” Crowley groped down the side of the chair beside him. “Got you something.” He dug out the bag and tossed it over to Ezra, who set aside his glass to open it up.

“What’s this in aid of?”

“For the boys. For taking care of them for me,” Crowley said with a lazy shrug. “No reason.”

As if he hadn’t stood outside, hand on the door handle of the centre, stunned into silence as Ezra tore verbal strips out of that lemon-faced old bigot at the youth group. As if he hadn’t heard the mild-as-milk man savage R.P. Tyler on behalf of him, the boys and Anathema. As if he hadn’t been left dazed by the knowledge that Ezra Fell would go balls-to-the-wall feral to protect him and the kids. He’d retreated to the van, trying to gather himself, shocked beyond the telling, before Ezra and the boys had finally come out.

Ezra peered into the bag and the look of delight on his face made Crowley’s heart stutter in a way it hadn’t done for far, far too long. “Oh, how wonderful!” he exclaimed, pulling out the book.

It wasn’t much. Crowley had spotted an antique shop on his lunch and nipped in. They didn’t have a very big selection of books, but tucked on their dusty shelves, he’d found a book of Oscar Wilde’s short stories with all kinds of swishy old illustrations.

“Since you don’t have any of your old books,” he said, trying very hard to convince himself the warm fuzzy feeling was from the whisky in his glass and not from the giddy expression on Ezra’s face as he leafed through the pages. Okay, yeah, technically, he hadn’t drunk any of the whisky yet, but drunk by association was definitely a thing.

“It’s wonderful,” Ezra said, the softness of his voice so unlike anything Crowley had heard before. He trace the images on the pages with his fingertips, as if committing them to memory. “Oh, I love these stories. _The Happy Prince_ was always my favourite.”

And when he smiled across at Crowley, Crowley forgot all about whisky and drinking and anything but those bright blue eyes and the warmth in them. “Ngk,” he said.

And somehow, Christ only knew how, that smile turned up a notch and Crowley knew he was done for.


	11. Chapter 11

There were _rules_ on the yacht. Quite a few of them in fact. One of them was that all crew members had to knock on the door before entering Mr. Gabriel’s office or cabin or the reception room whenever he had company in.

Tracy had her own rule.

“Cooee, Mr. Gabriel!”

The man spun around from his computer. “Miss Potts, we’ve had this discussion before!”

She gave him her working smile. “We have, Mr. Gabriel, I know, but I’m afraid I have a telephone call for you.”

He stared at her as if she was mad. And also as if he wanted to fire her, but was trying to remember exactly why he couldn’t. “Well take a message and I’ll call them back.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Normally I would, duck,” she said, “but you always said if _she_ phoned, then I was to come and get you right away.”

Mr. Gabriel went white as his fancy sheets and jumped to his feet. “She’s on the phone right now?”

Tracy waved towards the door. “In the drawing room, yes.” She widened her eyes innocently. “Shall I just nip along and tell her to leave a message? Again?”

He barged by her, shoving her to one side, and Tracy smiled at his retreating back.

“Is that a no, then?” she called after him.

She leaned out of the doorway, waiting until his footsteps had receded, then hurried across the room to his laptop, peering at the screen. Stocks and shares were all nonsense to her, but she’d tidied up Mr. Fell’s files often enough to recognise all the places where he had investments.

“Oh, Mr. Gabriel…” she murmured, staring at the lists and files all over it. “You _have_ been a naughty boy, haven’t you?” She straightened up and dug her phone out of her pinny pocket, taking a quick picture of the screen.

If Mr. Fell wasn’t around to keep an eye on his comings and goings, someone had to be.


	12. Chapter 12

The floor had been cleared, which was something of a miracle itself.

“What about this?” Warlock demanded, turning over some kind of strange remote-control… car? Or was it perhaps a tank of some kind?

“Do you use it very much?” Ezra asked.

“Sometimes,” Warlock said, then decisively hurtled towards his box marked ‘sometimes’. The boys had been doubtful about the hefty storage boxes, but when Ezra had pointed out if they arranged the stuff they had, it meant they could technically fit _more_ stuff, they had taken to it with aplomb.

Now, the cluttered mess under their identical twin beds had been dragged out, sifted, sorted, and sealed up neatly in a selection of large plastic boxes. Adam was sitting on his bed, sorting through pages and pages of drawings and notes.

Ezra lifted up one of the pictures. “That’s a good one of Crowley.”

Adam blushed happily. “I made him into a mermaid.”

“So I see.” Ezra gently nudged some of the paper aside and sat down, examining Adam’s gallery. A lot of the drawings were fantastical creatures, colourful and strange, but among them, three figures appeared again and again. “You really have quite the gift.”

“Adam’s best at making up stories and pictures and things,” Warlock said, shoving his box back under his bed. He scrambled up and flopped on the mattress. “Crowley says it’s good to do what you like.”

“Says we should,” Adam corrected. “Never does it himself, does he?”

Warlock’s face fell. “Not anymore.”

“Oh?” Ezra glanced between them. “Why not?”

The boys exchanged sombre glances.

“He’s working _all_ the time,” Warlock burst out.

Adam nodded emphatically. “Even when he’s taking us places, it’s places we want to go to, even when we tell him we’d like to go somewhere he likes too.”

In the fortnight he had spent with them, Ezra had certainly noticed that Crowley worked himself to the bone, leaving early in the morning and usually getting home in time for an evening meal and a night spent playing board games or video games or generally entertaining his children.

Even when they went to bed, he would spend time checking with Ezra how they’d behaved, if they were all right, what they’d done, where they were going tomorrow…

It spoke a great deal about his care for them, but now that Ezra thought about it, he couldn’t think of much that Crowley liked himself. Adventure books and films, certainly. He had a partiality for James Bond. But that aside, his entire world seemed to revolve around the boys.

“What kind of things does he like?”

The boys exchanged looks.

“Gardening,” Adam said at once.

“And stars,” Warlock added. “Used to take us to do stronomy.”

“And driving fast.”

“That,” Ezra interrupted with a crooked smile, “he still does quite a lot.”

Warlock sniggered. “Can’t go that fast in a transit.”

“I’ll have you know they were very popular as getaway vehicles back in the day,” Ezra said with a huff. “They went fast enough, thank you very much.” The boys both laughed and he couldn’t help smiling too. “But you’re right. Sushi dinner isn’t much. We should do something he likes. What about taking him to a garden centre? See if we can’t get some plants for that yard at the back?”

It could never qualify as a garden, the little concrete courtyard, three brick walls in a box around the back door. Probably where the outhouse had been when the house was originally built.

“D’you think we could put grass in there?” Warlock inquired. “Like a proper garden?”

“I think it would depend on the light,” Ezra hazarded. He didn’t know much about gardens, but what he did remember was that daylight was rather necessary. It also seemed an awful small space to make into something lovely. “Perhaps we could put some pots on the wall or something.”

“Um…” Adam riffled through his papers and pulled out a crumpled up one. “I think we could ask him if he wants to do this.”

“Is that the competition thingie?” Warlock leaned over the gap between their beds.

Ezra took the much-crumpled and ragged piece of paper. As Warlock had observed, it appeared to be some kind of competition. The council were opening a new community garden and wanted local people to have some say in the design. Crowley’s name and address were filled in at the top of the page.

“Did he plan to do this?” he asked.

Adam nodded. “He thought we didn’t know. I saw him doing drawings. Saw him throw it all away and I got that before he put it all in the bin. It’s almost the end of the competition time now.” He looked up at Ezra. “D’you think you can ask him? He might listen to you.”

Ezra’s heart ached. “My dear boy, if he doesn’t want to–”

“But he does!” Adam insisted. “I know he does. He took us to all kinds of gardens and he’d be really good at it!”

There was something about the pleading look on Adam’s face that rendered Ezra helpless. “I can _try_ ,” he said, “but you know he’s very busy. It might simply be that he didn’t have time or any ideas. That’s not his fault.”

Adam grudgingly nodded. “If he won’t do that,” he bargained, “then tell him we’re going to the beach on Saturday and he has to not think about work or anything boring.”

Ezra clapped a hand to his heart. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“S’that a yes?” Adam brightened.

“Only if you agree to use your pocket money to buy him an ice cream,” Ezra suggested.

“I’ll buy one for you, Mr. Fell,” Warlock said, clambering to his feet to reach for the piggy bank on the shelf above the bed. “I’ve got _loads_.”

Both boys had rolled their eyes when Ezra had noticed them during the cleaning, but he couldn’t help notice how protectively they treated them, set on a shelf out the way of everything else, and lifted down carefully as if they might break on impact.

“We’ve both got loads,” Adam grumbled. “Stop showing off.”

“Knowing Crowley, he’ll try and buy everyone’s,” Ezra warned. “We’ll have to be sneaky.”

“Anathema!” Warlock exclaimed. “She can distract him and we can go and get ice creams for everyone!” He pointed a finger at Ezra. “Don’t tell!”

“My lips,” Ezra promised, folding his hands over his heart, “are sealed.”

The rest of the tidying continued apace, until almost everything was sorted and anything they wanted rid of was stacked in a hefty box for the charity shop.

The weather was miserable outside, so the boys didn’t really want to go anywhere and by the time Crowley reeled in the front door, they’d settled down in the living room, playing together on one of the games consoles.

Ezra tucked a scrap of paper into the book he was reading – _From Russia, With Love_ – and slipped out into the hall. Crowley was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, dusty from head to toe, and tugging futilely at his boot, the picture of exhaustion.

“Here,” Ezra knelt down. “Let me help.”

Crowley made a strange, cut-off sound. “Don’t have to.”

Ezra looked up at him, wishing he had any right to reach up and smooth the smut from his hair and dust from his cheek. “My dear, you look dead on your feet and after all you’ve done to keep me for the last couple of weeks, this is the least I can do.” He pulled at the laces, loosening the boots and tugging them off one at a time. “The renovation continues?”

“Mm.” Crowley wriggled his toes. “Stripped back some plaster boarding. Whole wall of spiders.” He nodded towards the living room. “Boys okay?”

“Oh, fine.” Without even thinking, Ezra caught Crowley’s besocked feet, lifting them into his lap, and peeled his socks off. “We cleaned their room today.”

Crowley blinked owlishly at him. “Wha–?”

“The boys. We cleaned their room,” Ezra repeated, then realised he still had his hands wrapped lightly over Crowley’s now bare feet. He pulled them back at once, blushing, and dusted his palms. “Well, I say tidied. We mostly pushed things into boxes and hid them under the bed.”

“Tidied. The boys.” Crowley shook his head, still gaping. “Who are you and what have you done to my kids? Is this brainwashing? That’s it, isn’t it?”

Ezra swatted him on the knee. “Oh, do be quiet,” he said fondly. He got back to his feet. “And you really ought to go and wash up before dinner. You look like you set up house with those spiders.”

Crowley yelped, lifting a hand to his hair. “Christ, what a mess!” He scrambled up. “What’s for dinner?”

“Nothing exciting, I’m afraid,” Ezra shot a glare in the direction of the kitchen and that damned cooker. “I swear that stupid contraption likes to burn everything I put in.”

“Well, as long as it’s not burning _you_ again, I’ll consider it a win.” Crowley shifted on his bare toes. “I’ll just…” He jerked a thumb up the stairs. “Back in a few minutes.”

Ezra nodded, watching him go, and as soon as the bathroom door shut, pressed his knuckles to his mouth. Crowley’s skin had been so supple and warm under his hands, and what on _earth_ had possessed him to peel the poor man’s socks off as if he had come to wash his feet? And, worse than that, knowing he _wanted_ to.

Given the chance, he would have washed the tangles and cobwebs out of Crowley’s hair, smoothing his fingers through it. Lord, he shouldn’t want to, not when they had a business arrangement in place, but sometimes when Crowley smiled at him… and when he’d bought him that beautiful book… and sometimes…

“No,” he chided himself gently. “Stop this at once.”

They all needed to be fed and idle fantasies had to be carefully put away until he was in his own room and the door was closed.

In the kitchen, the cooker was – for once – behaving itself. Of course, he had cheated a little bit, picking out some strange cook-in-the-bag arrangement. Apparently, all you had to do was tip particular quantities of meats and vegetables into the bag along with the enclosed sachet of seasoning, seal it and cook. It even smelled quite good.

The table was already laid, so he hauled it out from the wall into the middle of the floor, freeing up all four sides, and set to work pouring drinks for everyone. He was just taking the tray out of the oven when the door creaked behind him and he turned, his heart giving a little patter at the sight of Crowley in his fluffy black dressing gown, his hair still damp and wavy on his shoulders. His glasses were off, the bags under his eyes like dark thumbprints.

“Sit down,” Ezra said at once, hurrying over to catch his arm as if he might fall.

“I can manage,” Crowley said, sounding amused, but he didn’t pull away, letting Ezra steer him onto one of the sturdy chairs, not the rickety folding monstrosity at the back.

“You look like the walking dead,” Ezra shot back. “An early night for you, I think.”

Crowley snickered, but he was drooped in the chair, limp as overcooked spaghetti. “Putting me to bed now, eh?”

Ezra choked down the reply that immediately came to mind, trying to ignore the thought of tugging open that dressing gown cord, making sure he’d got rid of all the mess and dust. “Well, someone has to,” he managed to clip out, turning – pink-faced – back to the cooker.

“Sorry.” Crowley’s voice was more drawly than usual, heavy and warm. “Fuck, I’m knackered.”

Ezra cautiously opened the bag, letting a cloud of fragrant steam gush out. He fanned it away from his face and glanced back. To his surprise, Crowley was as rosy-cheeked as him. “Hungry?”

“Mm.”

It took a couple of attempts to keep the bag open while he dished up a couple of generous ladles of chicken and vegetables into a bowl and he hissed, pinching it with his fingers, until the heap of food looked enough to feed a listing electrician.

“Here we go,” he said, pleased, as he carried the bowl over and set it on the table in front of Crowley. “I’ll just go and fetch–”

Crowley’s hand had closed around his wrist, the callused pads of his thumbs brushing the inside of Ezra’s wrist, sending new and powerful thrills the length of his spine. “Not yet,” he said quietly. “I just… let me get some food in me first. Wake up a bit.”

And don’t let them see you this tired, Ezra thought.

He nodded, sitting down instead. “Sounds like a very busy day.”

“Mm.” Crowley picked up his fork. “Rewiring the place.” He peered at the bowl, then sniffed at it. “What’s this?”

Ezra leaned over and plucked the packet from the counter. “Moroccan chicken,” he said. “I added a couple of extra vegetables and some couscous to bulk it out a bit. Feeding four of us, after all.”

Crowley’s warm eyes met his. “It smells fantastic.”

Ezra couldn’t help giving a pleased little wriggle on the spot. He’d forgotten how nice it was to simply be appreciated and Crowley never failed to say exactly what he thought. He watched, delighted, as Crowley dug into the mess of food and even after just a couple of mouthfuls, he looked so much better, more colour in his cheeks and energy in his movements.

When he paused to down half a glass of water, he sighed. “Christ, angel, this is exactly what I needed.”

Ezra couldn’t keep the beaming smile off his face. “Oh, I am glad. I know some of my other efforts haven’t been… well… at all good.”

Crowley waved his words away with his fork. “Made up for it with this one,” he said. “And apart from brainwashing my lads and making this, how’s your day been?”

“Quite quiet, to be honest,” Ezra replied, though his eyes flicked to the refrigerator door, where he had stuck the competition form with Adam’s Superman magnet. “There is something, though… I don’t know if I should maybe wait until you’ve rested.”

It was amazing how much expression Crowley could fit into one raised eyebrow. “Out with it, angel.”

He sighed, getting up, and fetched the form. “Adam asked me to–”

“Oh shit…” Crowley groaned, setting down his fork. “Where the hell did he dig that up?”

“He said you wanted to do it,” Ezra replied, returning to his seat. “Is it true?”

Crowley groaned into his bowl. “No. Well… not… sort of…” He snatched his glass and scowled at it. “Wanting to and doing it are two very different things. Sat down and did some basic sketches and it– look, I _can’t_. It’s– I’m– we–” He huffed and knocked back the rest of the water in his glass, then rose to refill it.

Ezra watched him, the taut set of his shoulders. “If you could,” he said softly, “would you like to do it?”

Crowley’s shoulders sagged. “If I could?” He nodded, his hair whispering against his dressing gown. “Yeah. It’d be… I _like_ gardens. Plants. Don’t have the space or time for them now.” He turned and came back to the table, folding down into the chair. “And no ideas anyway.”

“Are there guidelines?”

“Mm.” Crowley retrieved his fork. “They want it to have sections. Parts for different purposes kind of thing.” He made a face. “What’s wrong with a nice simple garden with open plan areas and– and–” He waved his fork vaguely. “Things?”

“They no doubt want to lure all sorts of people in,” Ezra said with a rueful smile. “Young and old and all that. Probably somewhere scenic.” He laughed suddenly. “You could have a little maze for children. And hark back to gardens of yore for scenic ones.” He sketched imaginary banners across the air. “The Eden of the North. The hanging baskets of Sunderland.”

He became acutely aware that Crowley was neither moving nor speaking, his eyes fixed on a point beyond the kitchen.

“My dear…?”

“Ngh?” Crowley’s eyes slid to him, alight and bright, and oh, they were even lovelier somehow. “I think I have an idea.” He started to push his chair back, then paused. “Food first, then idea. And I need to draw…”

“Adam has plenty of art materials,” Ezra prompted with a smile.

Crowley’s whole face lit up. “Adam!” he bellowed.

As the boys lolloped in, Ezra rose to serve up their meals, smiling as Crowley explained what he needed and why. And when Adam slammed into Ezra, hugging him tightly around the middle, whispering his thank yous, Ezra’s eyes pricked with happy rebellious tears.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second longest chapter of the fic altogether and I like to consider it my version of the episode 3 opener. Here's a little game for this chapter - count the easter eggs :)

“Why am I on hauling-your-stuff duty?” Crowley yelled over his shoulder as Adam and Warlock bolted off up the sand.

“Because you’re so good at it?” Ezra hazarded, glancing back after them. “I really think I ought to go and check on them. They had a mischievous look about them.”

“That’s their usual faces,” Crowley grumbled, then grunted as Ezra draped his coat on top of the blanket, football, frisbee and cooler he was already carrying. “Angel! How’s that necessary? You could… y’know… share the load. Carry a bit of the burden here! Be my knight in shining armour!”

“You’re doing very well yourself, my dear.” The damned man gave him one of those warm, twinkly looks. “I have a higher calling,” he said, giving Crowley a careful pat on the back. “For the good of humanity.”

He bustled back off up the sand, looking far too buttoned-up and covered for a man on a beach on a hot day.

“Chivalry is dead!” Crowley yelled after him. Mercifully, Anathema swooped in, scooping up the coat and blanket, taking off a bit of the weight. “You,” Crowley groaned in relief, “are an angel.”

She grinned at him. “Not the only one you have, from the sounds of it.”

Crowley blinked at her, then frantically replayed everything he’d said and groaned again. Lower key, more angst, definitely a note or two of mortal embarrassment.

“So…” She pulled down her sunglasses and peered over them. “Angel, huh?”

He made a face at her. “Don’t get any ideas. S’just a nickname.”

“Mm-hm.” She glanced about, then pointed out a spot a little further up. “How about there?”

“Yeah, fine.” Anything that distracted her and got her off the topic and meant she didn’t ask anything more about–

“You and Ezra, huh?”

The blanket was barely spread and she was sitting on it, beaming up at him.

“No. There’s no me-and-Ezra.” He sprawled down beside her, his skirt settling over his knees. Another one of her offerings. Bright red number. Very summery. Strappy. Also spotted with sun cream, because he was damned if he was ending up like a lobster again. He groped in the cooler, pulling out her screw-top bottle of some kind of fizzy wine. “Strictly a business arrangement.”

She opened out her parasol, stabbing it into the sand beside her, then tilted it to shade her – and her eternally voluminous skirts – from the sun. “Can’t help noticing,” she said, as she unscrewed the bottle, “that you’ve made an effort.”

Crowley gave her a look, but he couldn’t deny he’d taken a bit longer picking out his outfit this morning. Cleaner shave than usual too. Even some subtle eye make-up. And lipstick. And fuck, it was embarrassing how easily she could see through him.

He moaned pitifully and fell back on the blanket, staring at the sky. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only because I know what you’re like,” she said with a laugh, smacking him in the hip. “Stop moping. He’s coming back.”

Crowley sat up and peered up the beach. Ezra had shed his jumper and – oh shit – undone the top buttons of his shirt. His jumper dangled over his arm and he seemed to be putting an unnecessary amount of attention on the beige objects in his hands.

“Crowley!” he exclaimed, as soon as he was within earshot. “The boys got us a treat! You won’t believe how they serve ice cream here!”

So _that_ was where the lads had buggered off to, was it?

“In a cone?” he suggested.

Ezra beamed at him, carefully kneeling down, one knee at a time, on the edge of the blanket. How was it possible that this was the same fussy, prissy man who’d wailed about coffee in the wrong room, now, he was tilting his hands to stop ice cream running all over his fingers.

“No! Look!” He proffered one of his hands, revealing a ball of ice cream nestled between two shell-shaped wafers, each of them half-dipped in chocolate and covered in hundreds and thousands. “It’s like an oyster.”

And that’s what it was probably trying to be.

“I’ve never eaten an oyster,” Crowley said, peering at it, wondering how much mess it would make if you bit into it and cracked the shell.

“Well, then let me tempt you!” Ezra said excitedly, opening his hand around the shell.

Shit, Crowley thought happily, taking the ice cream, then yelped when a cold drip of it landed on his bare leg.

“Oh dear! I wasn’t quite fast enough.” Ezra’s hand shot out and he dabbed the dribble of ice cream off Crowley’s calf with a napkin and – midway – seemed to realise what he was doing. A tangle of nonsense sounds escaped him and he threw the napkin into Crowley’s lap. “There. In case of more spills!”

“Ngh,” Crowley agreed hoarsely.

A blind man couldn’t have missed the blush that bloomed all over Ezra’s face. Probably on his own as well. And he definitely didn’t glance anywhere near Anathema, because he knew exactly how smug she would look.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for her to get distracted by her wine and a gangly skinny bloke who came over to say hello to her. Some kind of computer expert she’d met through work, she said, waving away Crowley’s questioning look. Mind your business.

All the better to divert her attention, he decided, letting him concentrate on the accidental object of his affection who cajoled him to come down to the water’s edge once they finished their ice creams.

“In case I fall in again,” Ezra said with that wide-eyed, innocent, helpless lamb look. “It would be awful if I was swept out to sea again.”

“While standing on the waterline on a beach,” Crowley teased, rolling to his feet.

“You never know,” Ezra replied primly. “And how would I contact you, if I was adrift? I don’t have a dove or an olive branch.”

Crowley burst out laughing. “Yeah, and sending a seagull isn’t going to work, is it?” He clapped a hand to his chest. “I’ll come and protect you from the big bad ankle-deep waves.”

To his amused delight, Ezra fastidiously removed his shoes and socks and rolled his trousers up over his ankles before getting up and declaring he was ready. He looked so relaxed, barefoot and open-collared in the sun, and Crowley wondered if it would be a bit much to take his hand.

He didn’t.

Course he didn’t.

Business arrangement and all that.

Still, as the day rolled on and they paddled and laughed. Ezra’s sleeves were rolled up and they and the boys tossed the Frisbee and hopelessly chased the football around on the sand, Crowley’s eyes kept drifting, wondering what might’ve happened if the ice cream had dripped a bit higher, whether Ezra might’ve tried to clean a smudge of chocolate from his lips and… well, lots of other things a man shouldn’t be thinking about when wearing a floaty skirt that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

He forced his focus back on the games and the ramshackle picnic and enjoying the boys laughing, looking brighter and happier than they’d been in ages. All week, they’d sat with him, helping him with his garden plans, while Ezra sat and read on the couch.

It all felt… nice.

Daft word, that, but it’s what it felt like. Nice and comfortable and _happy_. Even Ezra seemed to feel it too, smiling quietly behind his book. He’d even been the one to suggest the outing to the beach to celebrate the successful submission of the competition entry. A great idea, that.

He said as much to Ezra as they piled back into the van several hours later and the man just smiled like he hadn’t been instrumental in all of it coming together.

“You didn’t need my help,” Ezra demurred, subsiding, drowsy and pink, in the passenger seat.

But that wasn’t true.

If he hadn’t been about, Adam would’ve never come clean about the competition form and they’d never have spent nights laughing and working on it as the boys ripped the piss out of him. They’d worked together like a crack team as well – he did the sketches, Adam did the line work and Warlock – despite mugging and grumbling about it – coloured them in with the _right_ colours.

That was some kind of miracle.

Between that and the house being spotless for the first time since Lucy’s passing and the warm, sometimes slightly odd meals…

Crowley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, humming to himself as they headed for home. A vague idea was taking shape, but he had to wait until he pulled up outside the front door.

“You and the boys head in and clean up,” he said to Ezra. “Me and An’ll bring the stuff in.”

As soon as they’d bundled in the front door, Anathema raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Subtle.”

“Oh shut up,” he grumbled fondly, whipping out his phone and having a quick search through the local theatre and cinema listings. “D’you think you’d be able to watch the boys tonight?”

She socked him on the arm.

“Ow!” He shot her a wounded look. “What?”

“I thought there wasn’t any you-and-Ezra,” she said, grinning at him.

“There isn’t!”

“But you’re asking me to sit for you, so you and him can…?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I wanted to thank him,” he said. “That’s _all_.”

“Uh-huh.” She hauled open the back door of the van and pulled out the cooler. “That’s all. You and him. Alone. Together.” Clutching one hand to her heart, she feigned a swoon.

“Y’know,” he said, tapping at his phone, “this is why no one likes you, you daft witch.”

She snickered. “So where’re you taking him? Dinner and a show? A romantic stroll by the water?”

“I’m starting to see why people burned witches back in the day.”

She leaned over his phone, peering down at it. “Not true. They usually went with drowning or hanging. Ooh! Good choice.”

He flapped a hand in her face, shooing her back. “I _know_ , all right?” He met her eyes. “Is that a yes?”

She swung the empty cooler thoughtfully from side to side. “Let you go on a date and maybe get some for the first time since I met you?” Crowley yelped, the blush crawling up the back of his neck. “Sure why not?”

“I didn’t– it’s not the first–” She made things worse, sticking her tongue in her cheek and smirking. “Oh, shut up.” He clicked the box to buy the tickets. “Come round about six, yeah?”

“Sure.”

Of course, he still had to go in and break the news to Ezra, who was making a brave effort to stop the boys flooding the bathroom as they washed their feet in the bath. Crowley hesitated in the hall, watching as Ezra hoisted the laughing and squirming Warlock off the edge of the tub, knotting him up in a towel.

“I warned you!” he said, laughing as much as the boys.

“He started it!” Warlock wailed, then beamed over Ezra’s shoulder. “Adam! Crowley’s all dry!”

And the little bugger whipped around in the tub, shower-nozzle in his hands, and sprayed him full in the face.

“Glah!” Crowley yelped, flailing. “Adam!”

“Ha!” Ezra hooted with laughter as he all but tossed Warlock into Crowley’s arms and snatched a second towel to trap Adam and his weapon.

All four of them were soaked to the skin when the water was finally turned off, Crowley sprawled on his arse on the damp carpet in the hall, the giggling Warlock slumped against his chest.

“There,” Ezra said, as if his shirt wasn’t plastered to his skin and he didn’t have Adam tucked under his broad arm like a rolled-up blanket. Christ, for a librarian, he had some strength to him. Probably hauling all those books about for his boss. It made Crowley’s stomach give a lovely twist. “All clean.”

He said it with such a straight face, it took a second before they all dissolved into helpless laughter.

Still chuckled, Crowley pushed Warlock back to his feet, then scrambled up. “Right, you too,” he said, pointing to their room. “Changed into something dry, then downstairs. Anathema’s coming over to watch you tonight. You get to pick one thing each from the freezer that isn’t a dessert.”

“Why?” Adam inquired, as Ezra set him back on his feet. “Where’re you and Mr. Fell going?”

“Out,” Crowley said. “To do grown-up stuff.” He jabbed emphatically. “Clean clothes! No more dripping on the carpet.”

The boys fled, still laughing.

“Out?” Ezra echoed from behind Crowley.

Crowley pushed his sodden hair out of his face. Probably looked a right mess, make-up running and everything. “Bit of a break for both of us,” he said, heart drumming. “Little celebration. For the competition and everything.”

Ezra’s face did that soft glowy thing when he smiled, cheeks rosy as apples. “Oh, that sounds splendid. If you’re sure it won’t be too–”

“S’my treat, angel,” Crowley said firmly and jabbed his thumb in the direction of Ezra’s room. “Go and get dressed. I need to…” He looked down at his dress that was clinging as much as Ezra’s shirt. “Change. We both need to change.”

“Casual?” Ezra inquired. “Or smart?”

Crowley laughed. “How extensive is your wardrobe?”

Ezra gave him the pursed-lipped little pout. “Fine! Tie or no tie?”

“Tie,” Crowley decided, which meant tailoring his own wardrobe to… oh Christ, what a sap he was turning into. He ducked into the bathroom, hastily closing the door behind him and bonking his forehead gently against the door. “Get it together, you soft lump.”

Twenty minutes later and four outfit changes later, Crowley clattered down the stairs, pausing to check his himself. Simple outfit, but flattering - skinny jeans and a fitted grey t-shirt with a neat black waistcoat on top. He'd left his hair down, though he'd added a star-speckled clip to keep it out of his eyes.

"Right," he murmured, taking a deep breath. He threw open the living room door and stepped in, heart battering as Ezra looked up.

And gave him a not-at-all subtle once-over, ogling him from head to toe.

"Oh, good Lord..."

That, Crowley decided, twirling on the spot to show off the whole ensemble, was a good reaction. Especially the blush. Pink as a carnation in his shirt and tie.

"You look sparkly," Warlock said approvingly.

"Not too much?" Crowley glanced back at Ezra.

"I feel a tad formal." Ezra tugged at his bow tie self-consciously. "Should I–?"

"Keep it," Crowley said at once. "Suits you." Anathema rattled through the front door and Crowley offered Ezra his hand. "Off we go, angel." Ezra beamed, his hand warm and soft, as Crowley hauled him up. "Out of the madhouse for a night."

They snatched their coats from the hooks in the hall, called their goodnights to Anathema and the boys and headed out to the van.

"You still haven't told me where we're going." Ezra said, as Crowley pulled the van out in the road.

"Never heard of a surprise, angel?"

"I know you. That is a moot point."

Crowley laughed. "Anyone ever tell you you're a bit of a cheeky bastard?"

"Not at all!" Ezra wiggled happily in his seat.

Crowley hid a grin and counted down from ten. He got to four.

"So where are we going?"

"I thought angels knew the virtues," Crowley teased. "Patience."

Ezra huffed, but he was smiling.

Only minutes later, they were parked up near one of Crowley's favourite restaurants. "Forgot to ask: how do you like Middle Eastern food?"

Both of them glanced down when Ezra's stomach growled.

"Honestly, this thing has a mind of its own," he said, prodding it. "I think I do."

He wasn't wrong.

Crowley watched, rapt, as the fastidious, fussy man tore houbz with his hands, dipping into baba ganoush, licking falafel crumbs from his fingertips. When he groaned in delight over his shish and held out a bite on his fork to Crowley, Crowley knew without question he was doomed.

They talked as well, though Crowley was buggered if he could remember the specifics. Something about ducks, wasn't it? Or maybe the pond behind the museum or something daft and he'd said something funny enough that Ezra laughed, cheeks dimpling.

Humans shouldn't be able to glow, but there he was.

"That was marvellous," Ezra said when they emerged an hour later. "Thank you very much, my dear." He gave Crowley another of those searing appraising looks. "What are you in the mood for now?"

Alcohol, Crowley thought giddily. Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol. Christ, with those heated glances and the memory of Ezra licking oil from his thick fingers, how the hell was he meant to survive phase two without something to take the edge off?

"Ngh." He waved down the road. "This way."

Thankfully, the walk calmed him down enough and as they neared their destination, he glanced sidelong when Ezra exclaimed in surprise and delight.

"Hamlet! Oh, how wonderful!" He caught Crowley’s arm, squeezing, warm and strong. "You shouldn't have."

Heat poured up Crowley's face. "Don't thank me yet. It's only am-dram. Not RSC or any of that."

"Still." Ezra beamed at him as they headed inside.

They were a little early but – thank God – there was a bar inside, along with a small bookstand provided by one of the local bookshops. Crowley was entirely unsurprised to find Ezra there when he returned from the bar.

"Anything interesting?" he inquired, handing over a glass of white.

Ezra held up what looked like a comic of Twelfth Night. "I thought the boys might enjoy this."

Crowley leafed through it. "Twins dressing as each other and causing havoc? Sounds about right." He dug out his credit card. "Go on."

"Oh, really?" Ezra could've lit the place singlehandedly.

Crowley rolled his eyes, grumbling good-naturedly as Ezra protectively gathered up his purchase and they headed into the auditorium. Despite the last-minute tickets, they had pretty good seats, but then the place was half-empty.

"It's a shame," Ezra said, looking around. "You'd think Shakespeare would garner a larger crowd."

"S'the summer holidays, angel. Everyone's off to Benidorm or Tenerife, not hanging around for am-dram." Crowley folded into his seat. " _And_ this is one of the gloomy ones."

"Well." Ezra glowed at him. "Lucky for us."

Crowley ducked his head, wondering if he'd be billed by the theatre for spontaneously combusting from the sheer happy warmth Ezra was blasting at him with both barrels. Curtain up and tragedy were a merciful distraction.

Of course, that only lasted until he glanced sidelong and saw Ezra's blissful expression.

How the hell was he meant to have an opinion about the play when all he'd ended up watching were Ezra's reactions? He forced himself to pay at least a little attention, but then, well after the brief intermission, Hamlet learned about Ophelia’s death and Ezra gave a soft gasp and clutched Crowley's wrist.

"Gneh?" Crowley managed. Tilted his wrist. Bit opportunistic. Made Ezra's hand slip down over his. His heart almost shot out through his ribs when Ezra's fingers parted and threaded between his. Palm to palm. Holding hands. They were–

He shot a sidelong glance at Ezra, saw the dimple appear in his cheek, and mutely, he squeezed Ezra's hand.

They sat like that for the rest of the play, even though Crowley suspected his palm was a bit on the slick-and-sweaty side. Still, Ezra didn’t let go and every little shift in pressure came in response to the action on the stage. He didn’t even need to look to know Ezra was bright-eyed at the “flights of angels” speech. Could tell by the urgent grip on his fingers.

And – unfortunately – the moment the curtain fell, Ezra pulled his hand back and started applauding like he was trying to bring Tinkerbell back from the dead or something. Even jumped to his feet, which made Crowley shrink down in his seat with a helpless little laugh.

“Angel,” he mumbled. “Bit much.”

“No such thing,” Ezra retorted, beaming, as the cast came out for their bows. “They did a wonderful job.”

Crowley hid his smile behind his hand, his elbow propped on the arm of the chair, as he watched Ezra applaud until the curtain finally closed and there was no one left to clap. “Happy now?” he inquired as Ezra trotted into the aisle, looking utterly self-satisfied.

“It was a lovely production,” Ezra said, pulling his jacket back on. “The young man playing Hamlet did a very good job on some of those soliloquies.”

Ducking down to grab his own coat off the floor, Crowley grinned. “Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety.”

That made Ezra’s eyes widen in surprise. “You know _Anthony and Cleopatra_?”

“Bit of it, yeah.” Crowley meandered up the aisle towards him, coat slung over his arm. “I still prefer the funny ones, though.”

Ezra’s eyes were brighter than usual behind his glasses. “You never cease to surprise me,” he said, shaking his head a little. “I…” He paused, then took Crowley’s hand again, and this time, Crowley could see the colour bloom in those apple cheeks. “We should get home, shouldn’t we? Miss Device will want to get off.”

“Yeah,” Crowley nodded blankly, looking down at their hands. “Get off.”

Ezra tugged him onwards up the aisle and he shambled along behind him like he’d been smacked on the head.

Outside, it must’ve been raining, the air cool and crisp and he took a deep breath, praying it would clear the fluffy, daft feelings he was having out of his head. They started back in the direction of the van, but Ezra yelped, jerked him to a halt.

“The book! I forgot the book!” He spun, letting go of Crowley’s hand, staring back down the road. “Oh dear, they’ll have–”

Crowley cleared his throat and held up the bag with the book that he’d been carrying along with his coat. “I know, I know. Amnesiac. Shouldn’t make jokes, but you’d forget your head if–”

His words got lost in Ezra’s mouth.

Mouth. On his.

Kissing him.

Crowley blinked stupidly at him when he pulled back. “You kissed me.”

Ezra’s face was pinking rapidly. “I did.” He darted out his tongue, dabbing his lips. Lips that had been on Crowley’s. On them. Right on them. Oh Christ.

Crowley swallowed hard. “D’you wanna do it again?”

“Oh, could I?” He breathed it with wonder, like Crowley was doing him a favour and God, Crowley waggled his head like a nodding dog.

And just like that they were snogging in the carpark like a pair of horny teenagers. Ezra’s fingers were in his hair and Crowley groaned as short nails scratched at his scalp, his over-full hands scrabbling at Ezra’s warm, soft sides.

Above them, the Heavens opened and they broke apart, laughing and yelping.

“Van!” Crowley nudged Ezra on. “Quick!”

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley!” Ezra laughed, jogging along with him towards the transit, where Crowley fumbled the keys and swore, groping on the ground for them. Abruptly, the rain cut off above him and he looked up, startled, and found Ezra’s coat held open over him. “Hurry up!”

Crowley scanned around on the ground and snatched up the keys. He yanked the passenger door open, then bolted around the other side to scramble into the driver’s seat, both of them subsiding in their seats as the rain belted against the roof.

“Damp way to end the night,” Crowley said, peering out.

“Yes, we were rather… rained off.”

Crowley darted a look at him and Ezra ducked his head with a small smile. Right. Yeah. So that smile was going to be the death of him and if he didn’t get the key in the ignition – not a euphemism – and get them home, he was going to bloody well crawl across the gearstick and into Ezra’s plush, soft lap.

“Yeah,” he said, forcing himself to turn the engine on. “Bloody weather.”

A warm hand covered his briefly on the gearstick and squeezed – and sent his brain careening off in all kinds of directions. “Well, until then, I had a _wonderful_ time.”

Same, Crowley should’ve said. Me too. Simple words. One syllable-thingie each. Easy. Instead, he made _noises_ and hit the accelerator without putting the van into reverse and almost drove straight into a fence. And the bloody angel knew it was his fault. Crowley could see the smug little smile out of the corner of his eyes. Bloody absolute awful fantastic bastard.

They didn’t chat all the way home. Well, Crowley didn’t, with his tongue in knots and his heart in his ears. Ezra prattled, though. About the meal. About his favourite parts of the play. About how it had been a long time since he’d had such a fun evening. From the smile on his face, Crowley couldn’t help thinking it was true. He hadn’t seemed all that happy on the boat.

Now…

God, now, Crowley just wanted to bask in it, like a snake lying in the sun.

As he turned off the engine, Ezra touched his arm. “Mother’s twitching the curtains,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “Do you think we’ll have to climb in the back window?”

Crowley snorted. “I knew you’d be a menace,” he said, grinning, “but I didn’t know how much.”

Ezra rounded his eyes innocently, though he slipped his hand down Crowley’s arm to squeeze his hand again. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.” He clambered out of the van and trotted towards the front door as Anathema pulled it open.

“Hey, Mr. Fell. Crowley.” She glanced between them. “Did you guys have a good night?”

“It was splendid,” Ezra said happily, “but as you can see, we got caught in the flood.”

She made a face and squeezed back into the hall to give them both room to come in. “Yeah. Major front coming in.” She raised her eyebrows at Crowley. “Debrief time?”

Crowley groaned. “Yeah, okay.” He glanced at Ezra. “Night.”

The man gave him a quick smile and vanished off up the staircase, as Anathema herded Crowley into the living room.

“So?” she prompted, sitting down on the arm of his chair.

“What?”

“So?” She flapped a hand emphatically towards the door and the stairs. “You! Him!”

Crowley stared at her. “Nope.” He gently caught her by the arms. “Nope, nope, nope, nope…”

“You said debrief!”

“I thought the boys had burned the kitchen down or something!”

She pulled a face at him, bracing her hands and feet against the doorframe. “They _love_ me,” she retorted. “They’d never do anything like that on my watch.”

He arched a brow. “Uh. Huh.” He put his shoulder between hers and _shoved._ “Bugger off. Out of my house. D’you want me to sprinkle you with water? Isn’t that what melts witches?”

For such a skinny woman, she could make herself deadweight like no one on earth. “One thing about tonight and I’m out of your hair!” She beamed at him as he pushed, and nudged and even kicked her shins. “Go on. One thing.”

He glowered at her. “One thing and you’ll sod off?”

“Promise.”

He glanced up the stairs, then leaned closer. “When I dropped my keys in the carpark, he used his own jacket to shelter me from the rain so I could find them.”

Anathema made a sound like a chinchilla being squeezed and clutched her hands to her heart, which was exactly the opening he needed to shove her out the door and slam it shut behind her. He locked it, checked everything was off in the kitchen and living room, then threw his coat on a peg and headed up the stairs.

The house was quiet already, the only sound the floorboards creaking underfoot.

And then, a gentle slice of light spread across the landing.

Ezra, standing – shining – in the doorway of his room in his pyjamas.

Crowley’s heart jumped back to his ears and he paused at the top of the stairs. His door on his left. Ezra in front of him. He reached out blindly, pushed his door open, then – half-terrified he was about to overstep – inclined his head towards his room.

Ezra’s cheeks went rosy. A click as he switched off his light, and then his hand was in Crowley’s, and together, they went into Crowley’s room.


	14. Chapter 14

The thunder of footsteps on the stairs woke Ezra with a start. It took a moment for him to remember where he was, the room unfamiliar, the warm body pressed against his back. A bare arm was wrapped around his waist and he smiled.

Crowley was still fast asleep, his breath ruffling the hair on the back of Ezra’s neck. 

Ezra ran his fingers down Crowley’s arm, brushing Crowley’s knuckles with his fingertips. It had been a lovely night, far more than he expected. The dinner, the play and, when they returned home, retiring to Crowley’s room as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Not that they had done anything... improper. 

That wasn’t to say that Ezra hadn't been tempted. Crowley was a very attractive man – and woman when the mood took him – and also show a complete gentleman. Yes, they had kissed but when it seemed like things may progress, Ezra had hesitated and Crowley had smiled and said “s’ getting late, angel. We should get some kip.”

He could have gone back to his own room, but Crowley had wrapped him up in his arms, snuggling against him, and made him feel welcome and safe.

“Gnergh?” Crowley mumbled against his shoulder, rubbing his chin along the curve.

Ezra smiled. “Morning, he said quietly, gently stroking Crowley’s knuckles. “Sleep well?

“Mm.” Crowley grunted, curling his fingers into Ezra's pyjama top. “S’nice.”

Ezra chuckles. “I thought you ought to know boys are awake and are very definitely downstairs.”

Yeah? Crowley's voice had taken on a much more interested note and Ezra shivered pleasantly as a stubbly kiss brushed the side of his neck. “We could get up to anything,” Crowley purred in his ear as skinny fingers slid between the button of Ezra's pyjama top, wandering in circles on the softness of his belly. 

Ezra’s heart gave a strange little thump and he squeezed the back of Crowley’s hand. “You go too fast for me,” he admitted in a shaky voice. 

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “Sorry.” He stroked his hand more gently on Ezra’s belly, over his shirt. “It's been a while. Get a bit carried away sometimes.

As the man sleeping in the bed of his employer, Ezra suspected didn't have any place to judge. “Not very business-like, this arrangement. 

Crowley went still and quiet. “About that,” he said. “There's something I should tell you.”

With a wiggle, Ezra rolled over to face him. Crowley looked unusually worried, his eyes still hazy with sleep and a furrow between his brows. 

“What is it?” Ezra asked.

Crowley stared at him for a minute, then sat up, wrapping his arms on top of his knees. “This arrangement,” he said, “I feel like I tricked you into it.”

Ezra sat up too. “Tricked me?” he echoed. “How?”

“It's... I just... I don't think you would have agreed to this under normal circumstances.”

“Normal circumstances,” Ezra said with a snort. “I think these qualify as extraordinary circumstances.”

That made Crowley smile just a little. “True,” he agreed, “but I press ganged you into babysitting my two little monsters. I shouldn't have done that.”

His thin shoulders were tense beneath his t-shirt, his knuckles white over his knees. He looked taut and unhappy and Ezra found he didn't like that at all.

“Let me clarify: you said you did a job for me, correct?

“Well, yes,” said Crowley

“And I failed to pay you for that job, correct?”

“Yeah but–”

Ezra bulldozed on. “And therefore I am working for you, looking after the children in order to recompense you for a job you have done. Is that about the whole of it?”

Crowley twisted around to stare at him. “You make it sound so simple.”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I am literally describing our arrangement as you described it: you did a job, I didn't pay you and now I'm doing a job in return for you. Simple.”

“Yeah,” Crowley badgered on, “but you're not exactly babysitter material, are you? I mean I could have found you something else to do. The books or something.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Ezra said with a laugh. “The boys are charming and, as for unpaid employment, I can imagine far, far worse.” He reached out cautiously and gently squeezed Crowley's arm. “Don't worry so much. You're not exploiting me.” He leaned a little closer and added “And I'm not trying to sleep my way out of my debt.”

Crowley burst out laughing. “Obviously,” he said. “You're just racking up credit now.”

Ezra try to keep a straight face. “So I suppose you don't want me to kiss you again?”

Crowley's eyebrows shot up. “I never said that,” he said, twisting around on the sheets. “You want to?

Warmth spread cross Ezra's face but he reached up, curling his fingers around Crowley’s jaw. Crowley's eyes shone and he pressed Ezra back against the pillows, kissing him again. It went on for quite some time. A very enjoyable time.

“We should probably get up,” Crowley said, as they lay there. He was sprawled halfway over Ezra's body, tangled in his sheets and Ezra’s legs. “Don't want them burning the house down or something.”

Ezra brushed a strand of Crowley's hair back from his face. “They’ll be fine as long as they have that contraption distract them,” he said. “They can find the Coco Pops themselves.” He bit his lip. “I wouldn't mind keeping you to myself got a little longer.”

“Soft,” Crowley said with a smile. He folded his arms on Ezra's chest, gazing down at him. “You're definitely not what I expected.”

“Oh, you mean the fussy librarian?”

“Welllll…” Crowley wrinkled his nose. “I kind of meant the… you know… jumping on me.”

The blush, which had abated, rush back with full force. “I _didn't_ jump on you.”

“Nah.” Crowley's face was alight with mischief. “Just your mouth, jumping on my mouth.”

Ezra swatted at him. “You reciprocated.”

“Lil bit.” Crowley yawned, kneading his fingers against Ezra's chest. He looked like he might fall asleep, golden and drowsy in the morning light.

“Comfy?” Ezra murmured, combing his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“Mm.” He curled there happily like a cat.

Ezra took a moment glance around the room, which told him far more about Crowley than the rest of the house. The place was pristine, white walls and not a speck of dust on the floor. Small plants lined the windowsill and flat screen TV hung on the wall at the foot of the bed. It was a quiet haven compared to the chaos downstairs.

On the wall and the polished dresser nearest the bed there were a few photos, most of them of the boys and one with Crowley, the boys and a dark haired woman.

“Is that the boys’ mother?” Ezra asked.

Crowley tilted his head. “Yeah,” he said, “Lucy.” He leaned over and pulled it down.

“Warlock looks just like her, doesn't he?” Ezra observed. The boy had the same dark hair and dark eyes, but in that picture he looks a lot happier. Ezra hesitated, then glanced up. “Crowley, if I may ask, why does he choose to go by Warlock? 

To his surprise, Crowley knelt up, his expression serious. “Some other kids managed to see _The Omen_. The little bastards asked him if he killed his mum like they did in film.”

Ezra's stomach knotted. “No.”

“Yeah.” Crowley ran his fingers through his hair. “He came home a right mess. We got the other kids suspended, but he couldn't let go of it. I thought letting him choose a name he wanted to use wouldn't do any harm.” He smiled ruefully. “And then he bloody well picked Warlock.

Ezra had to smile at that. “He's a very singular boy.” He sat up and back against the headboard and folded his hands in his lap. “He told me but you used to take him stargazing. He mentioned the Aurora Borealis up in the hills.”

Crowley look down at the picture in his hand. “Yeah,” he said. “When Lucy was at her worst, I’d take them away on day trips, anything so they didn't have to see how bad it got for her.” He smiled sadly. “Haven't been able to do that for a while.”

“You _do_ have a lot of work to do,” Ezra tried to be comforting. “After all you're feeding two bottomless pits with a hankering for chips.”

One side of Crowley’s mouth turned up. “Last time I checked,” he said, “there are three of you and you hanker for chips as much as they do.”

Ezra clutched a hand to his heart in feigned shock. “Well, I _never_.”

“Is something you have never said in your life, ever.” Crowley grinned as he rolled to his feet. “I’ll go down and distract them so they don’t notice which room you’re sneaking out of.”

“Crowley…” Ezra put out a hand to stop him, to say something, to thank him, to tell him how much fun he had–

Crowley darted down, quick as a snake, pressing him back against the headboard and stealing another kiss. “Wait two minutes, then head for your room,” he said and was off out the door before Ezra could even catch his breath.

Several minutes later, Ezra made his way down the stairs. He adjusted his tie and walked into the kitchen. Crowley laid out a plate for Him, smiling, as the boys fetched butter and jam and extra cutlery. Fresh toast was stacked on a plate on the table. Two mugs of tea steamed gently.

“You’ve been busy,” he said.

“They have,” Crowley corrected. “The boys wanted to treat us.”

Ezra smiled fondly. “I keep saying they are lovely boys.”

As if on cue, both Adam and Warlock groaned. It wasn't as convincing as they seemed to think. Especially not when they brought Ezra’s favourite conserve to the table.

“Thank you,” he said, trying very hard not to smile. “How _lovely_.”

“Crowley!” Adam moaned. “He’s being weird.”

Crowley just laughed. “I don't see anything unusual. He's just…” he waved one hand. “Like that. Can’t help himself, can you, angel?”

Ezra beamed at him. “I'm just a naturally honest person, and if you're lovely, I’ll say so.”

“Ugh.” Warlock hid behind Crowley. “I'm not lovely.”

“You have your moments,” Ezra teased.

Both boys groaned aloud and fled for the living room.

Crowley gave Ezra an admiring look. “That was a very bastard thing to do.”

Ezra smile serenely. “I don't know what you mean.”

“What I mean,” Crowley said, snatching some toast, “is we get breakfast in peace.”

Ezra spread butter onto his toast. “Happy coincidence.”

When Crowley smiled, Ezra gave a happy wiggle, warmed to his toes.

_____________________________

“Mr. Fell! I’ll help!”

Ezra glanced up from the pens he was gathering up on the art table. “Hello, Pepper.”

The girl beamed at him. She – and the small coterie Adam had picked up at the youth group – had taken a shine to him when he called her by her chosen name.

“I told my mums about you,” she said as she heaped up the leftover paper and shoved it into the big art box. “Mumma said it’s about bloody time we had someone who wasn’t from the dark ages on the staff.”

Ezra chuckled. “Is that how she put it?”

The child formerly introduced as Pippin Moonchild nodded emphatically. “And mum-buh said that despite the sister-matic patriarchal authority in the board, you are…” She scrunched up her nose in thought. “A shining example of non-toxic maskalinity.”

“A high compliment from such wise ladies as your mothers,” he agreed.

Since his… encounter with Tyler, he had made inquiries and found out the centre was always looking for volunteers to wrangle the children.

So he had volunteered and suddenly found himself allied with a flock of Tyler’s outcasts, or _Them_ as the man snidely referred to them. As far as he could tell, they were no worse than Adam or Warlock, though he could guess why Tyler had taken a dislike to them. The man was consistent in his disdain for anyone who didn’t fit under his mantle of ‘appropriate’.

Pepper beamed at him. “I’ll tell them you said that,” she said, dropping the last of the paper into the box. “They’ll _like_ it.”

He hoisted the box off the table. “I imagine anyone would be flattered to be called wise,” he said, then glanced about. “Perhaps you can tell me where this goes? I’m still learning the ropes.”

By the time they returned from the storage cupboard, the hall was all but empty and Adam and Warlock were sitting on chairs near the door. Adam was doodling in his notebook and from the look of things, he was letting Warlock make suggestions and read over his shoulder instead of hiding it away.

“Boys?” he called, pleased to notice Adam didn’t immediately hide the book. “Are you all set?”

“Crowley said he’s waiting down at the junction.” Warlock held up his phone. “He couldn’t park closer. Too many cars.”

Adam finished what he was working on and closed up his book as Ezra neared. He looked far happier than he had the previous week. “He said he’s got a surprise for us.”

“D’you think it’s McDonalds?”

Adam made a face. “Nah.”

“Well, shall we go and find out?” Ezra chivvied them gently towards the door, snatching his coat off a peg as he went. Crowley’s surprises varied so wildly, from an unexpected dinner to tickets to the cinema.

As promised, Crowley was waiting at the end of the road, leaning against the bonnet of the van, his arms folded. He looked rather splendid in the sunlight, his hair tied halfway up, the angle of the sun highlighting those lovely cheekbones under his sunglasses.

“What’s the surprise?” Warlock demanded as soon as they got close.

Crowley’s lips twitched as he pushed off from the front of the van. “In,” he said, pulling open the door. “You’ll find out when we get there.”

“So we _are_ going somewhere?” Ezra inquired.

“You’re as bad as them,” Crowley said with a tsk. He closed the door and circled around to climb into the driver’s seat. “Honestly, can’t plan a thing without all of you demanding to know everything. It’s a _surprise_ for a reason.”

“Why’s there a tent in the back?” Adam inquired.

Crowley spun in the seat. “Adam!”

“Camping?” Warlock’s face lit up and Ezra couldn’t help smiling. “We’re going camping?”

Crowley made one of those adorable groaning wails of frustration. “Yes! Yes, all right! We’re going camping!” He glanced at Ezra suddenly. “I mean, if you don’t mind. I’ve got an air mattress for the van, if a tent isn’t your scene. But I can drop you at the house, if you’d prefer some peace.”

Ezra hesitated. He couldn’t recall ever camping, but then, there was still so much he couldn’t remember.

Warlock flung his arms around Ezra’s seat, poking his chin over the back. “You _have_ to come! You can’t not come and see the surprise!”

“Yeah!” Adam insisted. “And if you want to come back, Crowley can get an uber for you.”

“Crowley’s not made of money, thank you very much,” Crowley snorted, though he gave Ezra a small, hopeful smile. “How about it, angel? Fancy a night away from it all?”

With Warlock squeezing him and that little smile turned his way, he couldn’t have refused, even if he wanted to.

“It sounds like fun,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been camping before.”

Crowley’s smile broke across his face like a sunrise. “Fantastic! Lads, strap in! We’re off to the wilds.”

The drive took little over half an hour, winding off the main roads into smaller country lanes, between hedges and rolling fields. Occasionally, Ezra caught glimpses of the sea through the gaps in fences and as they crested gentle hills.

The destination, it transpired, was a farm with camping grounds. Crowley parked up and they all piled out, the boys whooping and running excitedly to explore.

“You sure you’re all right with this?” Crowley asked, as he opened up the back of the van. “I mean, I know camping probably isn’t your scene.”

Ezra reached out and squeezed his arm. “It sounds rather exciting, my dear,” he confided. “At one with nature. Sleeping in a tent.”

Crowley glanced at him. “Stargazing.”

The world seemed to dip a little under Ezra’s feet, his heart giving a soft flutter. Stargazing. One of the things Crowley loved to do. And he had brought them here to do it. The camping wasn’t the surprise. _That_ was the surprise.

It took him a few seconds to realised he was standing, staring, hand to his chest. “I– the boys will be over the moon.”

Crowley ducked his head. “Under it, actually. That’s how the sky works, angel.” He clicked his tongue, very visibly struggling not to grin. “All those books and you don’t even know the basics.”

“Well,” Ezra retorted, nudging up beside him to help him unload, “you’ll just have to teach me a thing or two, won’t you?”

Quite how they went from unpacking to Crowley pinning him against the door of the van, kissing the breath out of him, Ezra couldn’t be sure, but he certainly didn’t mind. When Crowley broke back suddenly and lunged back into the van, Ezra staggered, trying to catch his breath.

“Do we have food?” Warlock demanded, peering around the other door.

“What do you take me for?” Crowley demanded, rooting about in a box. “D’you think I’d bring you to the countryside with nothing to feed you?” He tossed a couple of bags of crisps over his shoulder. “That’ll do you until the barbecue.”

“Barbecue?” Warlock hooted, then frowned. “Are you all right, Mr. Fell?”

Ezra blinked at him. “Oh. Yes. Super. Quite ticketty boo.”

“I was just showing him the kinds of things you need to pack for camping,” Crowley lied cheerfully.

“Mm. Teaching me a thing or two,” Ezra parried, delighting in the blush that spread up Crowley’s face. Ezra grabbed the hefty bag that contained the tent. “Come on, Warlock, my boy. See if you can show me where we’re setting up.”

The following hour and a half could be considered organised chaos.

The portable barbecue was lit to get hot enough to cook and they set to work on the tent, a unit as cohesive as oil and water. Pegs were missing, the tent was inside out, upside down and somehow, the outer layer ended up underneath it. Crowley dropped a couple of particularly colourful expletives which set the boys giggling, and Ezra laughed himself silly over it.

Eventually, the tent was up, the sleeping bags all rolled out inside, and the boys were on their second hotdog.

Ezra settled comfortably in the folding canvas chair Crowley had provided for him, stretching his legs out towards the small fire pit. “This really is a lovely spot,” he said, looking over at Crowley. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Crowley met his eyes. “I’m glad you came.”

“It’s _brilliant_ ,” Warlock said happily, sitting on the picnic blanket on the ground nearer the fire. Adam nodded happily, his mouth full of hotdog and crisps.

“There’s one thing I need you do for me, boys,” Crowley said with a wink at Aziraphale.

They sat up a little straighter.

“When I tell you to go to sleep, I need you to do it straight away, all right?” He checked his watch. “It’ll be in about an hour.”

“What?” Adam protested. “But that’s only” – he glanced at his brother’s phone – “like eight o’clock! We’re not babies!”

“ _And_ it’s a weekend!”

“And,” Crowley said, giving them both a wry look that Ezra recognised all too well, “if you don’t go to sleep then, you won’t be able to get up in time to watch the meteor shower after midnight.”

For a moment, the crack of the fire was the only sound.

“Meteors?” Adam echoed with barely suppressed excitement. “We’re going to see _meteors_?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said as if he hadn’t just given them a wonderful and unexpected gift. “If we’re up when it’s darkest, we should be able to see some.” Lord, the mirth in his voice. It was amazing that he wasn’t grinning. “It’d be too bad if someone missed them because they couldn’t do what they were told.”

“What about the rora borealis?” Warlock demanded. “Will we see that too?”

“Not tonight,” Crowley replied, “but we can always come again, eh?”

Ezra had to look away, the delight on the boys’ faces too much. They’d been happy enough before, but now…

Something prodded his elbow and he looked back around. Crowley offered him a skewer.

“What’s this for?” he inquired, frowning. “I thought we’d finished the barbecue.”

“This,” Crowley said, producing yet another bag from the cooler, “is for the toasting of the marshmallows.” He offered the bag down to the boys. “They’re big ones, so take five each. That’s it. Even share for everyone.”

Ezra peered at the soft, squishy objects with interest. “What are they?”

“You’ve _never_ had a marshmallow?” Warlock sounded personally offended.

“Not that I recall.”

Adam picked one of his up. “You put them on the stick.” He demonstrated, sliding the squishy thing onto the stick. “And then you hold them over the fire to toast them.”

“Fancy giving it a go?” Crowley said, holding the bag over to him.

“Five only!” Warlock reminded him.

Ezra obediently picked out five of the squishy lumps and threaded them one by one onto the stick, then leaned out to hold them over the fire.

“Angel!” Crowley yelped. “Not all of them at–”

“Too close!”

“Stop!”

Ezra looked back in alarm at their shouts then yanked his skewer back, but it was too late and instead of a nicely-toasted marshmallow, he was holding a stick that looked more like a flaming sword, every marshmallow ablaze.

“Oh good Lord!” he yelped, throwing it into the fire and shaking sticky black lumps off his hand.

Crowley was on his knees in front of him in a heartbeat, catching his hand and brushing the sticky flecks off, turning it over to check for burns. “Does it hurt?”

Ezra shook his head, heart drumming madly, his hand trembling. “N-no. Just a little fright.”

“Not surprising,” Crowley murmured, tilting his hand to the firelight. “It was flaming like anything.” He snapped his fingers. “Adam. The wet wipes.” The boy tossed them over and Crowley carefully cleaned and checked Ezra’s hand. “Looks like you didn’t get any burns. No harm done.”

Ezra glanced forlornly at his now very burned skewer of marshmallows. “Only to the sweets.”

Warlock scuffled to his feet and approached, holding out his own nicely-toasted marshmallow. “You can have one of mine, if you like.”

“And mine!” Adam added, holding up one of his. “And Crowley can help you toast it without setting things on fire.”

Crowley gave him an amused look. “Yeah, angel. You might get through this with your other eyebrow intact.”

Ezra couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, do shut up,” he said. “You could stand to learn a thing or two from your boys.” He smiled at Warlock and Adam in turn. “Thank you. I would be delighted to share your sweets.”

In the end, he ended up with two of Crowley’s as well as two from the boys, all of them sitting together on the picnic blanket, sticky-fingered and satisfied as the sky gradually tinted towards twilight.

Despite their protests that they were babies, the boys were already yawning as Crowley took them off to get cleaned up before bedtime. Ezra watched them go fondly, then settled himself more comfortably on the picnic basket, gazing at the dancing undulations of the flames. There was something calming about all of it and he started with fright when something dropped around his shoulders.

“S’just me,” Crowley said, arranging the blanket he’d just slung around Ezra’s shoulders. “You looked cold.”

Ezra stared at him, once again knocked sideways by the casual kindness. He curled his fingers into the thick blanket, pulling it closer around him as Crowley fetched some more bits and pieces. He set a small pot on a brick at the edge of the fire, squatting close to keep an eye on it.

“What’s that?” Ezra inquired. “Not more food, surely.”

“Nah.” Crowley flashed a grin at him. “I saved us a little something.” He rattled around by the fire for a few minutes, then poured the contents of the pot into two little tin mugs and carried one over to Ezra. “My treat.”

The rich scent of chocolate curled in steamy wafts. “Cocoa!” Ezra said, delighted.

“And!” Crowley leaned sideways and with great ceremony, dropped a single marshmallow into it. “Best way to have it.”

Every time he did something like that, he made it more impossible not to smile. “More sugar?”

“Figured someone sweet like you would enjoy it,” Crowley said then groaned aloud. “Okay, let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, shall we?”

Ezra laughed. “There’s a time and a place for cheesy chat-up lines.” He took a sip of the sweet cocoa. “I’d say under the stars by the light of a campfire would be one of them.” He shot a sidelong glance at Crowley, blushing when he found the other man gazing at him. “Honestly, the way you look at me.”

“How do I look at you?”

Ezra shook his head. “Like I’m– as if I were–” A knot of something tangled up in his chest. “I’m not… _used_ to it. Being looked at. Being… seen, I suppose.”

Crowley shuffled a bit closer, lifting his free hand to draw Ezra’s face back to his. “I see you,” he murmured, his eyes turned to living flame by the fire. Then his lips twitched. “And I see you’ve got cocoa on the end of your nose.”

“What?” Ezra hastily wiped at his nose as Crowley burst out laughing. “Oh, you _beast_!” Ezra swatted him, his own mirth shaking him.

“Still.” Crowley’s voice took on a more serious note. “You’re worth seeing, Ezra. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Ezra looked down into his cocoa, the snarled knot unravelling. “Thank you,” he said softly. He turned the cup in his hands and took a deep breath before raising his face to the sky, taking in the pinpricks of starlight. “Can you tell me about the stars?”

“Course.” He leaned closer, the length of his arm pressing to Ezra’s side through the blanket, which definitely wasn’t distracting at _all_. As if it was the simplest thing in the world, he picked out constellations, murmured their names, their shapes–

“The bullfrog?”

“Mm-hm. That cluster there. See. Looks like a frog. Big eyes. Definitely a real thing.”

Ezra turned his head and found Crowley’s face unbearably close to his. “Really?”

Those dancing eyes glinted. “Would I lie to you?”

Ezra meant to answer, he really did, but his empty mug fell away and his hands were in Crowley’s hair and together, they sank down onto the blanket, forgetting all about the stars for a little while, exchanging sweet, chocolatey kisses and trying everso hard not to do anything that might get them thrown off the farm.

Crowley was the one to break them apart. “Christ, angel…”

“When we get home?” Ezra hazarded, stroking his hand down Crowley’s cheek. “Maybe we can…?”

Crowley darted his tongue along his lip. “You have no idea how _not_ helpful that is right now,” he said hoarsely. “Damn it, Ezra.” He got up, swinging his arms and pacing – stiff-legged – around the fire. “Something else. Let’s… something else.”

“Stars?” Ezra suggested, grateful he at least had the blanket to hide the evidence of his own desire. “Which ones do you like best?”

Crowley paused, the narrow blade of his body thin and dark on the side of the fire. “Not any that you can see from here.”

“Oh?”

He nodded, circling back around the firepit. “Alpha Centauri. Never seen it myself. Southern hemisphere only.” He took a shivering breath, wrapping his bare arms around himself and stamping on the spot. “Binary star system.”

“Binary? Two stars?”

Crowley nodded with a crooked grin. “Looks like one, though.” He spread his hands, swirling one around the other. “Two stars so close together that they’re mistaken for one.” He hissed through his teeth and bent to toss another log on the fire. “You can only see them through a telescope.” He rubbed his hands together. “One day, we’ll get down there. Go and see it all from the outback. Entire milky way from another angle.”

“It sounds marvellous,” Ezra murmured, then huffed, “Oh for Heaven’s sake, come back here.”

Crowley whipped around as if stung. “Gnh?”

“You’re shaking, you silly man!” Ezra opened up the blanket. “It’s cold out there!”

“Angel, we _can’t_ …”

“And we shan’t,” Ezra retorted. “We shall be like that alpha centaur. Close together, but not one.”

“Centauri,” Crowley corrected with a slanted grin, though he did come over and drop to sit down beside Ezra, who tucked the blanket around them both. “You going to misbehave, angel?” He had _that_ look on his face, the one that spoke of mischief. “Now you have me in your nefarious clutches?”

Ezra schooled his expression as much as he could, though he could feel the tell-tale twitch at the corners of his mouth. “Oh Heavens, no. I have stars aplenty to distract me. I won’t go looking for Uranus.”

Crowley blinked at him, then threw back his head and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for the curious, [this is the farm where Crowley took Ezra and the boys.](https://www.pitchup.com/campsites/England/North_East/Co_Durham/peterlee/barn_at_easington_/?type=4)


	15. Chapter 15

The rail outside the drawing room didn’t really need a polish, but Tracy was giving it a good buff anyway. The door was open a crack and Herself had called again and Mr. Gabriel had looked awful flustered when he rushed along to take the call.

“No, ma’am, I understand–” He sounded all het up, poor duck. “Ma’am, I can assure you the documentation is all in order, as per your instructions. No… no, I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

Tracy hummed thoughtfully.

If she had her dates right, they were coming up on the annual review. Mr Fell always signed off on the paperwork after cross-checking the accounts. Always had done before Mr. Gabriel arrived. Very precise, Mr. Fell. Definitely knew what he was about, even if Mr. Gabriel was in charge of managing the outgoings during the year.

“Inconsistencies?” Mr. Gabriel’s voice was a little bit shakier than usual. “I don’t think– No, I understand, ma’am. He’ll double-check them for you and give you a call once he’s done. Yes, ma’am. Three days should be enough. Of course.”

Tracy retreated away to the far end of the hall and resumed polishing the door knobs there when Mr. Gabriel strode out of the drawing room.

“Miss Potts!”

She turned, as if she had no idea he would be coming. “Yes, pet?”

“Tell the crew to make ready.” He didn’t look at all well, all pale and flustered, his hair mucked up like he’d dragged his fingers through it. “Is the Captain aboard?”

Captain Michael certainly wasn’t. Tracy knew she’d sloped off to see her boyfriend who worked down on the quay a couple of days earlier and hadn’t come back yet. Bit of rough, by all accounts. Took a bit of the polish off her, knowing that.

“I can give her a call and get her in,” she suggested. “We off somewhere nice?”

“North,” Mr. Gabriel said. “Ezra needs to get his ass back to work.”

Tracy bobbed in the way he liked, as if she was some kind of skivvy, and hurried away, digging out her phone. Mr. Fell was coming home!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter because I'm all but finished writing and wanted to throw something nice at the world :) And by nice, I mean devastating :D

Crowley wasn’t one to be easily alarmed, but walking in the front door from a long day at work and finding a frantic-looking Ezra with two equally panic-stricken boys wasn’t exactly calming.

“What happened?” he demanded, searching each face in turn. “Who died? _What_ died?”

Ezra held out a formal-looking white envelope. “This came for you this morning.”

“We wanted to phone and tell you to come home!” Warlock burst out. “Mr. Fell wouldn’t let us!”

Ezra put an arm around the boy’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “It’s from the council.” His voice was surprisingly calm, given how frazzled he looked. “It has their address on the back. We thought– well it’s been a while since you did the competition.”

Ten days. That was bloody fast, though, wasn’t it?

“Might just be my council tax bill,” Crowley managed to say, though the boys’ nervous energy was definitely contagious.

“Open it!” Adam burst out suddenly. “Look and see!”

His hands shook so much he almost tore the letter along with the envelope, but Crowley managed to pull it out, shaking it open. Christ, now was an awful time to realise he’d gone blind or something. All the words were wibbly and shaky and his heart was in his throat.

“Mr. Anthony Crowley…” he murmured, tripping over the rest of the words. “Thank you for… many entries… you have been chosen for the shortlist–”

“What’s a shortlist?”

“It means they like his garden and think he should be one of the finalists, but they haven’t picked a winner yet,” Ezra’s voice cut across the buzzing whine of his heart in his ears. The paper shivered in his hand and Ezra gently took it from him, replacing it with his other hand. Warmer. More solid. Definitely not shaking as much. “Oh! They want you all to go down to the town hall for a photograph to go on the website with the other entrants.”

Sounded so calm, he did. So calm.

“Crowley’s going to fall over.” Warlock. Smart boy. Right on the money.

“Living room, boys.” Ezra again. Firmer now. “I’ll get him back on his feet.”

Or sitting on his arse on the stairs. Good enough. Legs all jelly.

“Crowley?” Warm hand on his cheek, made him look up. Ezra smiled. “Ah, so you are still in there.” He smiled. “You did it, my dear. You got to the next stage.”

“Can I see again?” Crowley asked. Ezra nodded, stepping up and around him to sit on the step behind him, wrapping his arms around in front to hold the letter for him. Yep. There. Been chosen. Shortlisted. Him. For a garden thing. “Fuck…” He sagged back against Ezra’s chest. “I didn’t– I never– this stuff doesn’t happen to me.”

Ezra pressed his broad palm to Crowley’s chest, steadying him. “You deserve this.”

Crowley shook his head. These kind of things _didn’t_ happen. It was all – it couldn’t – these things _didn’t_ happen.

“Breathe, love.” Ezra’s voice was as warm as his hand, and as steady. “Deep breaths.”

Breaths. Yeah. He could. Could do that. Big ones. Deep breaths.

Little by little, everything evened out and he could breathe and hear and think again. “Bugger me…”

Ezra smiled close to his ear. “Maybe later.”

Crowley swatted at his leg. “You _know_ what I mean.” He peered at the page again. “Photo down at the council building. As soon as convenient.” He knocked on Ezra’s knee. “You’ll need a new tie for that.”

Ezra made a small sound of surprise. “Me? But I didn’t–”

Crowley twisted on the step to look at him. “This wouldn’t have happened, if it wasn’t for you,” he said, gazing up at Ezra’s pink-cheeked face. “You... you listened to the boys. You gave us the push. You _helped_ us do this.” He waved the letter in his face. “ _Your_ theme, remember.”

“But it should be you and your family,” Ezra demurred.

“You are.”

The words slipped out before Crowley could stop them. Would he’ve stopped them? Maybe. Probably not. Nothing but the truth. Ezra had made everything better just by being there and giving a damn and… and… and Christ, Crowley wanted to keep him and never let him go.

Ezra’s eyes did that shiny crinkly thing, lines curving in interesting places all over his face and Crowley wanted to kiss every damn one of them. “Well then,” the damned angel said, “you’d better buy me a new tie.”

“I’ll leave you some money to buy yourself something nice,” Crowley said and leaned up to kiss him.

Ezra smiled against his lips. “You spoil me.”

“Only a tie, mind you.” He drew back and wagged a finger in Ezra’s face. “No three piece suits or anything.”

Ezra pouted. “Oh, if you insist.” He gave Crowley’s shoulder a squeeze. “We should let the boys know you haven’t keeled over completely.” He gently pressed his hand to Crowley’s back, helping him up. “I’ll go and see to dinner. You go and receive your dues.”

Due turned out to be being rugby tackled onto the couch by two overexcited eleven year olds.

Squashed under the weight of them, Crowley decided he could definitely get used to this.

They celebrated that night with a whole tub of ice cream between them and two Bond films on the telly.

The next morning, Crowley called to postpone a couple of his afternoon jobs – kids were back at school next week. Wouldn’t be free for family photos during working hours then – and headed out to work. The boys and Ezra were going to go tie-hunting.

At exactly one o’clock, Crowley was waiting outside the county buildings, sitting on the wall, his legs dangling. He glanced at his watch, then blinked. Jesus. Four weeks. Four weeks to the day since he’d been pushed overboard by a pretentious arsehole and now…

“Crowley!”

He swung himself down off the wall at Warlock’s yell, glancing around, then raised his hand in greeting as the boys barrelled towards him. Wouldn’t be long before they were too big to smack into him like that. Already past his shoulder. One day soon, they’d knock him on his arse.

“Successful tie-hunt?” he inquired, glancing over at Ezra.

The man unfurled his hand below his throat, displaying an utterly ridiculous little bow tie and as he came closer, Crowley snorted.

“Are those cacti?”

“Mm-hm.” Ezra wiggled happily. “You could say it’s a cac… tie.”

Crowley groaned. “Oh, that’s awful, angel.”

“That’s what I said you’d say!” Adam grinned triumphantly. “Told you!”

“Quite so,” Ezra chuckled, eyes dancing. He motioned to the building. “Shall we?”

The boy loped on ahead and Crowley fell into step beside Ezra. “Some secret meaning in that, angel?” he murmured. “Something about being a little prick?”

“Oh _really_.” Ezra could sound convincingly indignant, if you didn’t recognise the glint in his eye. “I can’t imagine why you would think such a thing.”

Crowley grinned at him. “I bet you can’t.”

Inside, the building was a beige labyrinth of offices and open plan waiting areas. It took then twenty minutes to find where they were meant to be going and when they got there, another ten for the person responsible to find the camera they were meant to use and five more on top of that to find Crowley’s submission details.

Eventually, they were herded in front of a whiteboard, awkwardly posed, and the harried girl took a photograph of them, checked all of their names, thanked them for their time, promised it would be up on the website by close of play, and promptly kicked them out of the office.

“Charming!” Ezra huffed, as they bustled back through the halls. “Is there no such thing as common courtesy?”

“You’re just grumpy because she didn’t comment on your tie,” Crowley said, grinning as Adam and Warlock chortled and Ezra blushed.

“No, I’m not!”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“All right, yes I am.” Ezra glowered at him. “Maybe. A little bit.” He self-consciously touched his tie. “I thought it was rather dashing.”

“I like it,” Warlock said loyally, knocking his shoulder against Ezra’s arm.

And there was that lovely, crease-up smile again, soft and warm and utterly happy and Crowley wanted to see more of it. And more of the boys. And they had the whole afternoon and the sun was out, so why not?

“Lads,” he said sharply, making sure they were both paying attention. “South Shields. Ocean Beach?” They roared and he was suddenly tangled up in limbs.

“The beach again?” Ezra asked.

Crowley grinned over their heads. “Not this time.”

“The shows!” Adam exclaimed. “Roller coasters and waltzers and everything!”

Unsurprisingly, Ezra looked a little green at the thought.

“Don’t worry,” Crowley said as the lads fought over the keys and raced for the van. “They’re happy enough if we watch them on the rides. You don’t need to go on anything.”

Ezra gave him a sheepish smile. “Was I so transparent?”

“Lil bit,” Crowley murmured, knocking Ezra’s shoulder with his own. “Trust me, angel. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

True to his word, they wandered through the shows, following the boys as they raced from one ride to the next, flashing their wristbands and getting spun, dropped, whirled and all other gravity-defying things that they seemed to enjoy.

Crowley, instead, watched Ezra enjoying a strawberry-sauce dripping 99.

“Isn’t that a bit much?” he inquired. “Chocolate _and_ sauce?”

“No such thing.” Ezra caught a rogue drip and sucked it off his finger, and Christ, Crowley loved him for all his stupid and finicky and daft and delicate little affectations. Prim and neat until it came to treating himself to the food he loved.

The thought walloped him like a two-by-four.

Crowley _loved_ him. Shit. More than fancied. More than would-enthusiastically-shag.

“Crowley?”

Crowley blinked, shaking himself. Must’ve been staring. “What?”

“Are you all right?” Ezra canted his head, worry furrowing his brow. “You looked a little pale.”

“S’fine.” He lied, heart fluttering. Well… that was a thing. A thing and a half. A thing and a bloody great big barrel. He nodded ahead. Think about it later. At home. Probably when Ezra snuck in to curl in his bed beside him again. Yeah. Then. Think then. “We should catch up with the boys.”

And not think about it now.

Not when Ezra and the boys posed at one of those daft face-through-hole displays and made Crowley take pictures on his phone. Not when the boys convinced Ezra – just once – to go on the teacups and spun him until he howled with laughter and dismay. Not when they sat on the sea wall and ate chips out of polystyrene boxes with little wooden forks.

And definitely not when his phone pinged to notify him of an e-mail from the council and he saw the picture of them on the website, altogether, smiling. Like a family. Happy. Safe.

“Look boys,” he said instead, though his grin felt brittle. “We’re famous.”

Ezra leaned in to peer at it. “It came out nicely, didn’t it?” he said, pleased.

“Yeah.” Crowley wanted to kiss him, right there, in front of the boys. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. “Nicely.”

Instead, he herded them back – full of chips and rosy from the sun – back to the van. The boys babbled for the first five minutes of the drive home, then gradually drifted into silence.

“Well, that’s a miracle,” Crowley murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

Ezra gave him an amused look. “They’ve had a busy day.”

Crowley hesitated, then reached over and squeezed his hand quickly, then returned his hand to grip the wheel and put his foot down. Had words, but they all caught in his throat, so he kept them. Later. Later would be better. When they had quiet and he could think straight.

The other man shifted in his seat, settling back with a contented little yawn. “It’s been a lovely day,” he murmured.

“Yeah.” Crowley flicked a glance at him. “Lovely.”

Made a change for them all to be quiet, no chattering about music or what they would do when they got in or who got the choice of film or book or whatever. Just quiet and them and Crowley with his thoughts. Well. Thought. One great big thought that kept cruising across his mind.

Came as a nasty shock, then, when he turned into his street and saw the proverbial iceberg on the horizon. Big car. Fancier than anything that usually showed up in their neighbourhood. Parked at his front door.

He drove by it, heart pounding, searching for another space, and pulled.

“Did someone nick our spot?” Adam asked sleepily.

“Looks like it.” Crowley tried to swallow down the horrible knot in his throat. Might not be anything. Might just be someone visiting one of the neighbours. Nothing to worry about. Still, as soon as Ezra got out the passenger side, Crowley bolted around after him, terrified.

“I don’t think we’ll need anything for dinner tonight,” Ezra prattled on, as if nothing was amiss. He plucked the keys from Crowley’s nerveless hands and trotted on down the pavement. 

As if…

As if…

Shit. The man. The bastard from the hospital unfolded out of the car. Straightened up.

“Oh, hello Gabriel.” Ezra nodded in greeting, then unlocked the door and disappeared into the house.

“Crowley?” Warlock nudged his arm. “What’s the matter?”

Crowley’s throat worked, tried to swallow, but not a sound came out, not a word, nothing. Like he’d turned to stone. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe.

The house door opened again.

Ezra stepped out, staring. “Gabriel…” He gave a strange, puzzled laughed. “Yes. You… _you’re_ Gabriel. It’s me! Ezra!”

Gabriel all but rolled his eyes as if Ezra hadn’t just had his life handed back to him. “I know who you are, Ezra.”

And oh God, worse than that, Ezra turned that beacon smile of his on Crowley. “I remember!” He bustled back along the pavement and caught Crowley’s hands. “They said it might come back suddenly, but I didn’t…”

And there.

Right there.

Crowley saw the moment when he _really_ remembered.

“You…” The softness vanished from his face, the lines deepening again, sharp and painful and wary and on-guard. Just as he had been when they first met. “You were the… the man on the boat. The electrician.” His shaking hand leapt to his mouth. “Oh Lord… you said…” His eyes well, bright and wet. “We…”

“Yeah, I think we can all see what’s going on here.” The American – Gabriel – swept down on them. He caught Ezra’s shoulders and – oh fuck – there was the flinch. _That_ flinch. That was the source. “I told you this guy was bad news, Ezra.” He wheeled him around. “Let’s get you back where you belong.”

“No!” Adam protested. “You can’t take him!”

“Crowley!” Warlock grabbed his arm.

Crowley managed to stumble forward a step. “I didn’t lie to you,” he blurted out. “I never lied to you.”

Ezra hunched in on himself, shivering, and Gabriel pushed him towards the car, then swung around and prowled towards Crowley.

He was taller than Crowley. Not by much, but by enough, and he had two burly men behind him. Probably armed as well. “Mr… Crawly, was it?” He smiled that thin toothless smile again. “You’ve had your fun, taking advantage of a poor, injured man.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket. “Here’s what you’re due. Consider yourself lucky I don’t rip it up right now.”

“Lucky?” Crowley echoed. “Lucky? You–” He forced a gulping breath. “I saw you there, you bastard! I saw you at the hospital! You _left_ him there. You knew where he was and you left him.”

Gabriel curled his lip disdainfully. “Says the man who abducted an amnesiac.” He slammed the cheque against Crowley’s chest, his hand hard and broad. “Don’t make any more fuss, Mr. Crawly, or we may have to take… appropriate action and we wouldn’t want that.” His eyes flicked to the boys and back. “Would we?”

Crowley stared at him, stomach dropping.

Appropriate action.

He just had to say the right words to the police. Abduction. False imprisonment. Christ, Ezra could probably give them a list of charges as long as his arm. And Gabriel had the means to make his life a misery and if he did – if _they_ did – the boys were fucked. No parents. In the system. Probably separated.

He reached up, fingers trembling with grief and fury, taking the cheque.

Gabriel – smarmy bastard – smirked at him. “That’s what I thought.”

“No!” Adam lunged passed them on one side, Warlock on the other.

“Mr. Fell!”

They threw themselves at the car, howling and kicking as the bodyguards grabbed at them.

Gabriel gave them a distasteful look.

“Adam,” Crowley said through lips still as stone. “Warlock. Stop.”

“They can’t take him!” Adam yelled, squirming. “You can’t take him!”

“He’s ours!” Warlock was sobbing. “He’s _ours_! Give him back!”

Gabriel ignored them, slipping into the car as the bodyguards carried both the boys and dropped them at Crowley’s feet. They sprang up to run for the car again but he threw an arm around each of them, his throat locked, his words gone, his heart closed up in the car with the tinted windows and driving away.


	17. Chapter 17

Ezra’s hands ached, his fingers locked together, as he stared blankly out of the car window.

They were speeding north, heading towards Newcastle, and Sunderland was falling away behind them. A sign for the turn-off towards South Shields flashed by and Ezra had to press his eyes closed. They’d just _been_ there. They had laughed and eaten chips and ice cream on the promenade and they had been _happy_.

 _I didn’t lie to you. I never lied to you_.

He turn-turn-turned his ring. Old anxious habit. Bad habit. Hadn’t done it in weeks because he hadn’t remembered. Hadn’t _needed_ to, a traitorous little voice whispered.

And the boys… the boys screaming as they drove away.

He took a shaking breath trying to quash down the emotions that felt like they were trying to drown him. Tried to focus. Here and now. Where he belonged. His rightful place.

Home.

A warm bed crossed his mind, freckled limbs around him, a book… oh God, the book…

He crushed his hand to his mouth, trying not to whimper.

“You’re not gonna hurl, are you?”

“No,” he managed, forcing himself to look at Gabriel. Always so smart and elegant and utterly confident. “No, I’m… fine. Everything will be all right.”

“That’s great.” Gabriel slapped him on the knee and squeezed hard enough to be painful. “Back in the saddle, am I right? And just in time for the annual reports.” He flashed all his white white teeth. “We’re lucky we found where he’d taken you. You know how _she_ gets.”

“Yes.” Ezra folded and refolded his hands. “Quite.” He didn’t look back. He didn’t. He wouldn’t and couldn’t and didn’t. He squeezed, squeezed until his knuckles ached, and made himself stare blindly out through the windscreen, lights flicking by as the sped towards the city and the docks.

Only when they were walking towards the yacht did he find any words.

“Gabriel,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?”

“How _did_ you find me?”

Gabriel laughed. He threw his head back, like… like other people, but somehow, it seemed more for show. “Your friend may be a good electrician, but he’s not all that smart, sunshine,” he said, whipping his phone out of his pocket. “If he didn’t want us to find you, he shouldn’t have put your face up online.”

Ezra stared at the screen, the aching disjointed feeling returning. The photograph from that very morning. Crowley and the boys and…

His hand strayed to his bow tie.

“Simple, really,” Gabriel continued, steering him up the ramp and onto the yacht. “We got in touch with the council. Greased some palms. They told us where he lived and then, we just had to get there and wait.” That meaty hand squeezed his shoulder again. “Don’t you worry, kiddo. You’re back where you belong.”

Ezra glanced at that hand, the long elegant fingers, manicured nails. Remembered… remembered something not quite there. From the hospital, but…

He shrugged Gabriel’s hand off, walking unsteadily up the ramp. “I would like to go to my cabin,” he said quietly. “Get cleaned up. Into some… other clothes.”

“I’ll bring the paperwork along for you to look over in half an hour.”

He didn’t know if it was the grief or exhaustion that made him turn and say, “No. Not tonight.” Simple as that. As if he had ever answered back or refused anything Gabriel asked… no, demanded. Ordered. Gabriel never did something as mild as asking.

Gabriel half-laughed, as if Ezra had made some joke. “We’re on a tight schedule here, Ezra. You don’t need to do anything. Quick look and a signature. That’s all we need and you can nap to your heart’s content.”

Ezra stared at him blankly. “If I’m to sign anything, I want to do it with a clear head. Tomorrow, Gabriel. It can wait.”

Some odd expression crossed Gabriel’s face, taut and thin-lipped. “Sure. Tomorrow. No problem. I’ll meet you in the dining room for breakfast. 7am.”

Ezra turned away, straightening his back, and walked onwards. He simply had to get to his cabin. If he could hold himself together until then, then it would be all right. No one needed to know that he felt like he was walking on knife edges. Faces peered out at him, round blurs on the peripheries. They didn’t matter, not now.

“Mr. Fell! You’re back!”

Tracy’s voice behind him made his steps stutter.

He held up a hand, praying it wasn’t shaking too noticeably. “Yes. Yes, but I’m… I’m very tired just now. Excuse me.”

“Well, you know where to find me, if you fancy a nibble,” she said and the warmth in her voice almost undid him. “I baked up a nice batch of scones for you, when I heard you were coming back.”

“That – thank you. It’s very kind.”

Had she always been so friendly to him? Had he never noticed?

He quickened his pace, his heart aching, and stepped into his room, closing and locking the door behind him. The wood was cold and he pressed his forehead to it, his whole body shivering. Cold. Everything was cold and hard and polished… and papers and numbers and rules and strict guidelines and…

He pressed his eyes shut.

No. No, he was home. This was where he was _meant_ to be.

He tore off his second-rate glasses and the jumper, hurling them on the floor, kicking off the cheap plastic-based shoes and grabbed at the bowtie, jerking and tugging at it. The knot tightened and he swore into a sob as he wrenched it loose, ripping it from around his neck. Almost hurled it to the floor.

But… but…

But the boys had helped him pick it. They had all laughed so much over it and he had sat down on a bench with them in the park and showed them how to tie it.

Three staggering steps took him to the couch and he sank there, the torn tie cradled in his hands.

He hadn’t said goodbye to them. To the boys.

It – the sins of the father shouldn’t have been held against the children.

The sins of the father.

His eyes burned.

 _I never lied to you_.

Hadn’t he? When he came into the hospital and said they were…

Ezra stared blindly at the tie. What _had_ he said? He’d never said friends. He said… he said they had a business arrangement. He had repeatedly insisted. And… and he was right. Ezra hadn’t paid him and so, he had taken his revenge.

No.

No, it wasn’t revenge. It was… it was the act of a man who had so little that he had taken advantage of a complete stranger. Advantage. Or the help. He had hardly known Ezra at all, yet he trusted him to care for the boys. He hadn’t taken _any_ kind of retribution. He could have. Oh, he could have been cruel and vindictive and for reasons Ezra couldn’t understand, he could imagine hard hands on his shoulder.

Instead…

 _I’ll leave you some money to buy something nice_.

His eyes burned and spilled over with tears. It was _wrong_. Crowley knew it was wrong. He must’ve because he didn’t even say a thing, didn’t try to excuse himself. Maybe he hadn’t lied, but he still hadn’t told the truth. It amounted to the same thing. You _don’t_ take advantage of people with brain damage. It’s not _right_. It was so…

Mutely, Ezra curled up on his side on the couch, shivering.

Didn’t make sense. All too much. He pressed his eyes shut, his throat tight and hot with grief, and tried not to think of warm hands on his, a smile against his throat, stars and chocolate. Tried not to remember the laughter and the ice cream and paddling in the waves.

In the bowels of the yacht, the engines rumbled to life as they got underway.

Ezra lay. Still and quiet. Still as the grave. Always had, when he was upset. Wasn’t done to show how you were feeling. Wasn’t done to laugh too loud or smile too much. Or cry or grieve. Stiff-upper lip and all that. So he lay still, stared blindly at the window as the sky darkened shade by shade and the lights of land dropped away, specks of light in the distance.

Footfalls rattled around above and below, but little by little, the decks fell quiet.

The only sounds were the rumble of the engines and the slap of the waves against the hull.

And a furtive tap at Ezra’s door.

Not Gabriel, at least, thank Heavens.

Another tap, more urgent.

“Mr. Fell.” Tracy? “Mr. Fell, I need a word.”

With effort – his bones stiff and aching – he got up. He hesitated, then laid the bowtie over the arm of the couch. He hadn’t put the lights on, but he knew the room well enough to reach the door, unlocking it and peering out through the crack.

“I’m very tired, Miss Potts,” he said quietly.

“I know, Mr. Fell,” she whispered, glancing about, “but I need to talk to you when Mr. Gabriel isn’t leaning over your shoulder.”

He stared at her, then nodded, opening the door, ushering her in.

She flicked the light on, making him wince at the brightness, then held out a mug of cocoa in her other hand.

“Thought you might need a little pick-me-up as well,” she said with a warm smile he had once considered obsequious, but now… now seemed like the only real thing on the damned vessel. She caught his hand, pressing the mug into it. “You look like you’ve had a time of it.”

The kindness wrapped around him like a strangling cord and he took a shaky breath.

“You said– something about Gabriel?”

Tracy nodded, shutting the door behind her and locking it. “Yes,” she said, stern and grim as a general in a war cabinet. “We need to talk.”


	18. Chapter 18

Crowley’s heart felt like it had shattered, but that didn’t matter.

Only the boys mattered.

As the car drove off, Warlock gave a blood-curdling howl that had Anathema rushing out of her house, halfway into her dressing gown.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

Crowley’s arms shook around the boys and when Warlock kicked and bit his way free, Crowley let him go. Warlock fled into the house, slamming the door behind him.

“He’s gone,” Crowley said hoarsely. “Ezra.”

“They took him away,” Adam said. He sounded eerily calm. Least one of them did. He was stiff and motionless under Crowley’s arm. “The man in the big car took him away.”

Anathema stared at him, then at Crowley. “His people?”

No, Crowley wanted to say. They _weren’t_ his people. His people shouldn’t make him flinch or shrink away from them. His people shouldn’t make all those tight, painful lines appear on his face. He should be soft and smiling and warm and not waxy and taut as he had been as they’d bundled him into the car.

“I’ll go and check on Warlock,” she murmured.

He nodded, steering Adam into the house with him.

“You all right?” he asked quietly.

“You sold him.” Adam looked up at him, his expression as waxen as Ezra’s.

Crowley flinched. “What?”

“The man,” Adam didn’t even sound like himself anymore. “He gave you money and you let him take Mr. Fell.”

“Adam, no!” He shoved the cheque in his pocket and caught the boy by his shoulders. “Listen to me, all right? You know Ezra came from a boat? So did that man. He came to take Ezra home. He wanted to pay me for the work I did on the boat, that’s all.”

Adam’s eyes were bright and furious in his icy face. “You _let_ him take Mr. Fell away.”

“He wasn’t ours to keep, Adam.”

“He was.”

“No!” Adam jerked back from him. “No! He’s ours! He was nice and he was happy and he was fun and you let them take him away!”

A response rose in his throat but he bit down on it. Him or you, kiddo. Him or you. Crowley ran a shaking hand over his face. They didn’t need to know that, that their lives were held forfeit for Crowley’s acquiescence.

“He _went_ with them,” he said as calmly as he could. “If he wanted to stay, he would have stayed, but that’s where he belongs and he went with them.”

Adam’s face crumpled and he flew at Crowley. “It’s not fair!” he sobbed, pummelling at Crowley’s chest. “It’s not fair!”

Crowley gathered him up, hugging him. “I know,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I know.” He smoothed the boy’s hair, rocked him as he sobbed, rubbing his other hand in comforting circles in the middle of Adam’s back. When he gradually, finally quieted, Crowley mussed his hair gently. “We should go and check on Warlock.”

Adam nodded. “And get you a plaster,” he gulped, sniffing hard.

“A plaster?”

Adam touched Crowley’s forearm. Blood had bloomed on his skin where Warlock had bit him.

“Shit.”

“I’ll get the box,” Adam said with another damp sniff.

Crowley nodded and headed up the stairs. He tapped cautiously on the bedroom door, slipping in. Warlock was nothing more than a hump under his blankets and Anathema was sitting on the end of the bed, awkwardly patting what seemed to be his back.

“Warlock,” she murmured. “Crowley’s here.”

“Go away!” Warlock yelled, muffled.

Anathema unfurled from the bed as Crowley came closer, slipping out of the room. “Not happening, kiddo,” he said, taking her place. The hump of covers deliberately shuffled further up the bed, away from him. “Warlock–” He clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap. “I’m going to miss him too.”

The blanket heap gave a small shudder.

Crowley hesitated, then reached out and gently patted the heap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know we would like him. I didn’t know he would be like that. I’m sorry I brought him here and made you sad.” He sighed. “I’m glad he came, but I never wanted to upset you. You know that, don’t you?”

A pale, red-eyed face peeped out from beneath the covers. “I don’t like it when people go away,” Warlock whispered.

Crowley’s heart broke all over again. “I know.” He wrapped an arm around the Warlock lump and hugged him. “But Mr. Fell isn’t– it’s not like your mum. Maybe we can write to him. He might write you letters, yeah? Bet he writes fancy letters.”

Warlock emerged from his cocoon, pulling around him like a cape. “Yeah.” He knuckled at his eyes. “And he can come and visit?”

Crowley offered an arm, unsurprised when Warlock curled up against his side. “We can ask him. It has to be what he wanted to do, doesn’t it? Can’t make someone do what you want, just because you want them to.” He gave him a squeeze. “And whatever happens, you’re stuck with me.” He glanced up as Adam came in too, carrying the first aid box from the kitchen. “You, me and Adam. Team Crowley, eh?”

Adam flumped down on the bed on Crowley’s other side. “Could break our piggy banks,” he said. “Go and get a boat and go after him and tell him he’s still our friend?”

Crowley cupped the back of Adam’s head, ruffling his curls. “He knows,” he said, praying it wasn’t a lie. “Ezra’s a smart one. He knows we like him.” He brought his arm back down between them and held it out to Adam. “Can you patch me up?”

On his other side, Warlock made a sheepish sound. “Sorry I bit you,” he mumbled.

Crowley squeezed him. “I’ve had worse.” He barely winced as Adam carefully wiped at his arm with antiseptic and then stuck a far-too-large plaster over the mark. “You two going to be all right?”

The boys exchanged looks and nodded.

“What about you?” Adam asked. “Are you all right?”

He tried to smile and nod, but they could always see through him. “I will be. I’m just– not yet.”

They fell into him, hugging him tightly and that made things better and worse all at the same time.

“How about this,” he said, wrapped his arms around their shoulders and squeezing, “you both get a good night’s sleep and first thing tomorrow, we can sit down and write some letters, okay?” He sighed. “And I should go and tell Anathema what’s going on.”

Adam elbowed him in the ribs. “She’s going to be cross with you.”

Crowley’s mouth twitched weakly. “Yeah, she usually is.” He untangled himself from them. “Pyjamas, teeth and bed, okay? I… no fuss, please. Not tonight.”

They nodded and for once, he believed them, as he retreated from the room and paused on the landing. He’d have to go into his room sooner or later. Where Ezra’s pyjamas were neatly folded beside the bed. Where the sheets would still smell like him. Which was daft. They all used the same cocktail of shampoos and soap and yet…

He took a shaking breath, then made his way down the stairs. A sliver of light cut out from the living room and as soon as he walked in, Anathema leapt to her feet, dashing across the floor and slamming into him as hard as the boys normally would. Instinct had his arms around her in a second.

“You okay?”

He shook his head as she rubbed at his back. “He’s gone,” he managed.

She didn’t say ‘I told you so’. She didn’t give him any looks or tuts or anything. She just held him tight, rubbing her hand in circles between his shoulders and humming as he shivered in her embrace. Stupid. It was all stupid bollocks. No reason to be upset.

Somehow, they went from standing to sitting, both of them on his chair, legs tangled over each other, and she searched his face.

“What are you going to do? Let him go? When you know what his people are like?”

He shook his head. That thought had been screaming through his mind from the moment Gabriel showed face. “The one who came for him, he was the one from the hospital.” He met her eyes. “He said– he _threatened_ to make sure the boys were taken away if I kicked off.”

Anathema’s mouth dropped open. “That son of a bitch!”

He groped into his pocket, pulling out the crumpled cheque. “He gave me this,” he added. “Made it clear what’d happen if I didn’t just lie back and take it.”

Anathema smoothed out the paper. “EastGate Holdings. Is that who he works for?”

He offered a brittle smile. “Bastard didn’t think about that when he threw it at me. Company will have some kind of online presence, even if Ezra doesn’t. We– I can try and contact him through them. I– it– he might not want to hear from me, but he needs to know what that bastard is up to.”

“Get your phone,” she said at once. “We start digging tonight. That way, we know what we’re dealing with before they can get him in any trouble.”

Crowley squirmed a hand under her and wiggled his phone out of his other pocket. He unlocked the screen, then paused. Neither of the lads had noticed, but he’d changed the background: the four of them at the council building.

“Puppy eyes later,” Anathema snatched it out of his hand. “We have to help him first.”

He gave her knee a squeeze. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. “Especially not for this.”

“Wake me?”

He nodded down at her dressing gown. “Or did I interrupt spa night?”

Her cheeks turned rosy. “You may have to apologise to Newt another day.”

He eyed her. “You have a lizard?”

“I have a _man_ ,” she retorted. “We were… well, we’re not now. He’s watching the TV instead. So. Yeah.” She offered the phone back to him. “You were right on the money. EastGate Holdings. They’re based in London. Offices in Mayfair. High-flying enough that it doesn’t say exactly _what_ they do.”

He thumbed through the website. Low on names. Discreet. Sleek. Telephone numbers looked like they would go to switchboards rather than important people. “An,” he said, frowning, “your bloke. Computer-bloke, wasn’t he?”

She winced. “I can’t say how good he is, but he knows his way around websites, even if he sucks are making them work.”

He met her eyes. “D’you think there’s any way he’d be able to get us some useful information out of this site that doesn’t just go to some corporate inbox?”

A grin lit her face. “If anyone can find something, it’ll be him.” She scrambled up off his lap and ran for the door, then leaned back in, “You want me to bring some booze?”

As tempting as it was to curl in a ball around the nearest bottle of vodka, Crowley shook his head. Not with the boys needing him awake and aware and not hungover and drowning his sorrows. “I need a clear head.”

She nodded and vanished out the front door.

Five minutes later, she returned dragging a sheepish and dishevelled young man who had clearly buttoned up his shirt in a hurry.

“Um. Anathema said you need my help.”

Crowley nodded and thrust the phone at him. “Anything you can get me out of that: owner names, places, direct phone numbers, _someone_ I can contact at the top who will take my call.”

“Er… anything?”

Crowley pushed himself to his feet, pacing back and forth. “The bloke Ezra works with, he needed Ezra out of the way for some reason. That means he’s not the top of the ladder. That means neither of them are. Ezra was just… some kind of book archivist kind of thing. That means there’s someone higher up and I’m betting this guy, this Gabriel, doesn’t want them knowing what he’s been up to.”

The young man glanced anxiously at Anathema. “What’s going–”

“His friend is in trouble and we need to find someone in his company who might listen and help us help him.” She crossed the floor and caught Crowley’s arm. “Breathe, okay? I need you to hold it together, if we’re going to help him.”

Crowley nodded, folding down into his chair, but sprang up again a moment later. “Just–” He flapped his hand helplessly, motioning for Newt to get on with whatever the hell he was going to do, and did two more circuits of the living room before Anathema gently but firmly grabbed him by the arm and hauled him through to the kitchen.

“What if–”

“He’ll call us back through,” she said. “You’re stressing yourself out and it’s contagious. Newt’s already on edge after the kids screaming like someone was murdering them.” She shoved the kettle into his hands and went to dig into the cupboard. “Let me tell you that does _nothing_ for the mood.” She paused. “Huh.”

“What’s huh?” he inquired, filling the kettle.

“You know your cupboards are tidy, right? I can see what’s in them? And I didn’t have a multipack of chips–”

“Crisps.”

“Fall on my head.”

Crowley glanced over, nodded. “Ezra,” he said. “He did that.”

There were little touches of him everywhere. The ways things were stacked. The extra room found in the cupboards. The fact the games consoles didn’t take up the entire living room floor anymore. More books downstairs from the nights he’d sat on the couch, reading with the boys.

And like that, all the anxious energy drained away and the kettle clattered when it hit the bottom of the sink.

Anathema was by his side in an instant, hand at his back.

“I wanted him to stay,” he confessed in a low whisper. “I thought– I thought if we just– if nothing changed, he might stay.”

“I know.” She slipped her arm around his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “You are such a sap.”

He laughed weakly. “Says the witch dating a lizard.”

She smacked his arm. “Sit,” she said. “I’ll make tea.”

“Proper tea?”

She made a face at him. “I’ll boil the water and everything.”

They were on their second cup when Newt came through and held the phone out to Crowley. “That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.”

Crowley took the phone back, scanning the details. No telephone number, but a few names, one of whom seemed to be the owner or director of the company, which was more than they’d had half an hour ago. There was an e-mail address and – Jesus Christ – a fax machine number.

“This is great,” he said with a tired smile. “I can work with this. Thanks.”

Newt gave him a small smile. “Glad to help any friend of Anathema’s.”

Crowley recognised the soft, silly look on the lad’s eyes. “Go on, you two. Bugger off. You’ve got better things to do than coddle a grumpy old man like me.”

“You’ll be okay?” Anathema got up.

He nodded and waggled his phone at her. “Got a project to focus on. Thanks, witch.”

She blew a kiss back at him as she herded her young man towards the door. Crowley retreated back to the living room and curled up on the couch, tapping out an e-mail. Or six. And going into sites that were useful when it came to sending messages in weird and vintage ways and generally, getting the word out where he could, then digging into the names, trying to find a telephone number. He’d always been a curious bugger and it made him bloody good at digging, and if it took him all night he would–

–which explained why he jolted awake with a start, his phone buzzing on his chest, his neck cricked from being wedged up against the arm of the sofa all night.

He groped for his phone, thumbing at the screen. “Y’ello?”

“Crowley?”

Crowley jerked upright on the couch at once, heart pounding. “Ezra?” A blur of light beside his face made him turn the phone. Oh sweet Christ, the man had him on camera phone, even if he didn’t seem to realise, his face drifting in and out of shot. “Are you there?”

“Not sure!” The phone spun and tilted, showing a flash of dials and metal and a woman in white. Engines rumbled and from the sound of it, they were at sea, the boat on the move. “Can you hear me?”

Crowley laughed helplessly. “Course I can hear you! You’ve done a video call!”

“Oh!” The camera spun back around and abruptly the screen was filled with Ezra’s face in close up. “There you are!”

It felt like a bubble of relief was blooming out in Crowley’s chest and touched the screen. “Yeah. I’m here. I’m– I’m sorry, Ezra. About… about everything.”

“No need, my dear.” Ezra’s face was all soft creases. “I’m afraid I’ve rather made a mess of things.”

“No, but I need to–” He stumbled up. “Shit! Ezra! Gabriel! He’s bad news! Wanted to tell you! Couldn’t when he–”

“Don’t worry about that, darling!”

Darling. Crowley’s legs wobbled and gave way and he sat down again.

“Look, I want to get off this bloody boat as soon as possible! Can we meet?”

“Where are you?” Crowley demanded, staggering back to his feet. “Wherever you are, I’ll come to you!” 

“I’m not really anywhere yet…” Ezra peered away from the camera. “Oh! Yes! There’s a lighthouse ahead on our left! Black and white stripes! I think it’s that one we saw on the way back from the camp site!”

Seaham. They were coming up on Seaham.

Crowley bolted out into the hall. “How long will it take you to get there?”

A discussion happened off camera and Ezra beamed. “Half an hour or so.”

“Seaham!” Crowley said. “I’ll be there. Get – they have a landing bit! Find the landing bit!”

Ezra’s face lit up. “Seaham!” He agreed and the call cut off.

Crowley took a shuddering breath, a drowning man coming up for air, then crashed into the boys’ bedroom. “Lads! Van! Now!”

Two sleepy heads poked out of their respective beds. “Ngh?”

“We’re going to rescue Ezra!”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm weak. Since it's done, I can't resist posting :D

The sunrise had painted the sea in the most astonishing shades of gold and Ezra felt more alive than he had for decades. The bow of the yacht was pointed north and they were speeding along wonderfully, cutting white furrows across the waves.

He ought to have still been furious with all that he now knew, but Crowley’s face, Crowley’s voice and his smile, had washed it all away.

Tracy had told him everything in the small hours of the morning.

Everything she’d seen. Everything she’d heard. Everything that had happened day after day since his departure. She skimmed through pictures on the phone, pictures of what seemed to be Gabriel’s computer. The file names. The folders. The stock portfolios that technically, no one was meant to touch without Ezra’s authorisation.

Ezra let her talk, only breaking off her flow to go to his desk and fetch his spare glasses. He looked through the images. The dealings. The matters Gabriel had taken into his own hands. Short-selling. Siphoning off company funds and moving them around.

Pieces came together, pieces that he would never have noticed before. Contractors being hired for particular jobs, their rates – now that he knew from first-hand contact – exorbitantly high. How had they justified charging so much? And hadn’t Gabriel insisted they were the most fiscally sensible option? He had always handled the hiring of contractors, after all.

No doubt while skimming the cream off the top, a nice little commission to keep him in the lifestyle to which he had become accustomed. And all the while, trusting that Ezra’s own lack of hands-on experience with tradespeople meant no questions were asked.

Part of Ezra hadn’t wanted to believe it, not when it was something so bald-faced and shameless. Surely, he’d said, Gabriel wouldn’t have been so incautious, not when Ezra could have turned up at any moment.

And that was the moment she ensured he had… oh, what was that lovely phrase Crowley had used? Given his last fuck? Was that it? Yes. That sounded right. Because it transpired that not only had Gabriel been aware of _exactly_ what had happened to him, he had _abandoned_ him so he could continue his monetary shenanigans.

“He _left_ me there,” Ezra had said, disbelief vying with shock. “He came. He saw me. He left me there.” He pushed Tracy’s phone back at her, rising to his feet. “He…” Was the floor swaying or was that just him? Or perhaps both? “He wanted me out of the way.”

He stared at her.

“He’s been robbing me blind this whole time,” he said, “and he didn’t even give enough of a damn to bring me home. Just another chance to get his fingers in the till when I wasn’t here to stop him.”

She nodded sympathetically. “I wanted to check with you to be sure before I said anything to the police or that,” she said. “But he’s got papers to sign and I’d put money on him hoping you’re too muddled up to notice anything amiss.”

“That…” Grief and fatigue and confusion were replaced with rage. “That _bastard_.”

Gabriel was meant to _help_ him. Support him, even. And instead, he’d left him to be picked up by an electrician who… who had taken him in, taken care of him, fed and watered and clothed him without any questions. Who had welcomed him into his home. Given him biscuits. Bought him a book. Included him in his small, loving family.

Yes.

That was precisely the moment that he gave no more fucks.

So much so that he’d pulled on his deck shoes, snatched up his bowtie, and stormed up to the helm, bursting in and startling the Captain half out her wits.

“Sir!”

“Michael,” he said, smiling with all his teeth. “About face if you don’t mind.”

“Sir?”

He leaned closer. “I think it would be better for everyone if you would obey a direct order, Captain.”

Michael straightened up. “Gabriel indicated that we needed to return to London as soon as possible.”

“Since Gabriel has been robbing us blind for months, possibly years, I hardly think his word carries any credit now,” Ezra retorted evenly. “Do you?” He smiled the same way Gabriel did, all teeth, no eyes. “About turn, Captain.”

She’d obeyed. Of course she had. She was a sailor. She had to know which way the wind was blowing.

Two hours into the journey, a message came through from London. Vital. Important. Mr. Gabriel stripped of authority. How the information had reached them, Ezra had no idea, since his calls had gone unanswered, but he was more than happy to take the additional support.

And then he had called Crowley and now…

Now, the black and white spike of the lighthouse was only minutes away and he couldn’t keep the stupid smile from spreading all over his face.

“What the _Hell_ is going on here?”

Ezra turned, the automatic instinct to shrink from Gabriel’s ire burned away by righteous wrath. “Ah, good morning, Gabriel.” He smiled brightly, taking in how dishevelled the man was, his hair in disarray, his suit replaced with loose pyjamas. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

Gabriel’s eyes flashed. “What are you playing at, Ezra? We were heading for London. We were meant to be in _London_.”

“Yes, I know,” Ezra replied, still smiling, “but I’m afraid the plans have rather changed.”

“Michael!” Gabriel snapped. “Turn this damned boat around. We go south.”

Ezra’s smile only widened when Michael straightened her back. “No, sir.”

“ _What?_ ”

“We’ve had a message, you see, Gabriel,” Ezra said, rather surprised at how much he was enjoying himself. “It turns out you’ve been a rather… bad boy, haven’t you?” Gabriel’s face drained of colour. “You’ve rather… fallen out of favour.”

Gabriel’s eyes flicked from him to the crew around the cabin, as if he could reason or bully or press them in to doing what he wanted. Ezra smiled at him, truly smiled, then brushed by him as if he was irrelevant and stepped out into the daylight.

“You – you don’t get it,” Gabriel followed him.

“I think I do.” Ezra didn’t even look back, picking his way down the staircase towards the bow, the fresh wind whipping at his hair.

“Ezra!” Gabriel’s slippers flapped on the deck. “Buddy!”

“Buddy.” Ezra echoed. “No, I don’t think I am, am I?”

That broad hand caught his shoulder, familiar and hard and Lord, how he _hated_ it when Gabriel touched him like that.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Gabriel yanked him around with enough force to make him stagger against the rail. “Haven’t I done everything you ever asked of me? Everything _She_ asked me to do? Keeping you on an even keel. Not getting you in trouble.”

“ _Abandoning_ me at the hospital.”

That took the wind right out of Gabriel’s sails. “The hospital?” he sputtered. “What – I don’t–”

Ezra stared at him. “Oh, come now. Surely you didn’t think I’d forget you visiting me.” He tutted, shaking his head. “I don’t think that was part of her plan, do you? Or trying to force my hand to cover up your misdeeds?”

“I don’t–”

Ezra drew himself up. “I _know_ , Gabriel,” he said with all the confidence he could muster, though his knees were knocking and the spray-slicked rail was biting into his palm. “About your… little meetings. About the contractors you kept as your private army. How much have you been skimming off the top all this time, trusting me to be oblivious? How many jobs were done that weren’t even necessary?”

Gabriel’s wild-eyed expression turned colder and harder. “You know that, do you? You and what army? You’re _speculating_. You don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re fired,” Ezra retorted, voice sharp as a whip crack. “By her will.”

Gabriel snarled, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “You–”

It struck Ezra then that he had never seen Gabriel truly angry before. And as the man bunched his fist in Ezra’s shirt, as he yanked him up onto his toes, he realised that standing on the side of the boat, so close to the rail was probably the worst place to do it.

And yet he couldn’t help letting a little bit of his bastard side out. “It was lovely knowing you.”

Gabriel’s teeth flashed. “Shut your stupid mouth and die already!” he snarled and _pushed_.

The back of the rail caught Ezra’s legs and he saw the black and white blur of the lighthouse overhead as he fell, again. The water was as icy as he remembered and he gasped, gagging, breaking back through the surface.

Slick seaweed caught on his face and he coughed up more water, trying to breathe, trying not to panic. Remembering a pain in his head, the bone-penetrating chill, thrashing helplessly in the water with no one in any direction. Panic clawed its way up his chest and he almost went under again.

But this time – _this_ time – the boat slowed and stopped at once.

And almighty clang rang out, like a heavy duty tea tray meeting a skull, then an orange ring hurtled over the edge of the boat.

“Me. Fell!” Tracy leaned over the side. “Mr. Fell, are you all right?”

He dog-paddled to the ring, wrapping his arm around it, and waved. “I’m fine, Tracy!” He squinted around. Ah, yes. The lighthouse, towering up above him and the outer harbour walls on either side of them.

Of all the places for Gabriel to try and drown him, in an enclosed harbour was the worst decision.

A van horn blared and his heart leapt. That sound! He’d heard it far too often when they were whizzing up and down to collect the boys, and he scanned around. There. The black speck on the inner harbour wall. That had to be the van and the smaller black dot rushing along the inner wall...

 _Crowley_!

The black speck jumping off the harbour wall and into the water!

“You idiot!” Ezra yelped in dismay. He kicked off his deck shoes, pushed the ring aside and started to swim. Crowley was far too skinny to be in the cold water! He needed to get out and stop being so ridiculous and– and–

And as they got closer and closer the black blur resolved into thrashing arms and copper hair turned rust red by the water and bright honey eyes and Ezra laughed and spluttered and reached out and finally, their hands met and they pulled towards one another, treading water, two pieces of flotsam on the tide.

Crowley clung to his hand and his arm, already shivering. “All right, angel?” he asked through clattering teeth.

And as the launch from the yacht splashed into the water and he heard the boys yelling from the quayside, Ezra nodded, eyes bright and oddly fuzzy. “All right, darling. Very all right indeed.”


	20. Chapter 20

It had turned into a fantastic but bloody freezing day.

The yacht had sent out a little dinghy and fished Crowley out of the water with Ezra. They’d even been allowed back on the yacht with the boys running on board as soon as it docked. Squelchy, wet hugs happened and Tracy bustled up with blankets and towels.

He saw Gabriel in passing, bundled up and pinioned by a couple of burly crewmen. The slimy bastard didn’t look well, a lump the size of an egg on his head, his eyes unfocussed.

“What happened to him?”

Ezra’s lips twitched. “Apparently Tracy.”

Crowley gaped at him. “Tracy? Little lady? All sweetness and light?”

“And a bloody great big tray,” Ezra confirmed. He looked Crowley up and down. “We really need to get you out of those wet clothes.”

No denying it – he went red as a post box. “Ngk!”

Ezra’s lips pressed together in that carefully contained mischievous smile. “Come along, dear. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

Crowley wasn’t too keen on letting Ezra out of his line of sight, but he had to admit they kind of needed it. They were both soaked to the skin with oil-slicked sea water and God only knew what else. He remembered how much he’d had to scrub himself to get clean after his first harbour plunge and this one, he’d done voluntarily.

“The boys’ll be in the dining room,” Ezra assured him, leading him down the corridor to a room that turned out to be a cabin the side of his sodding living room with a bathroom bigger than the one at home. Ezra stroked a hand down his back, nudging him gently in. “You can freshen up.”

Crowley turned. “You could join me.”

A rosy flush bloomed across Ezra’s cheeks. “I could,” he agreed, stepping closer, one hand curling to cup Crowley’s chin, “but then we would never get anything done and the poor boys would worry themselves sick.” His knuckles skimmed Crowley’s jaw, his eyes dipping to Crowley’s lips. “Later?”

He said it as if it might be a question and Crowley gave a small groan and swayed in to claim at least one kiss.

Turned into another and another and Ezra’s hands were under his soggy shirt and he was tugging at Ezra’s buttons.

“Mr. Fell?” The housekeeper’s voice rang along the hall.

Ezra huffed, stepping back. “Later,” he said, this time more confidently, and Crowley nodded happily, watching him trot back out into the hall.

Right. Righto. Hygiene. Clean. And a power-shower with enough water pressure that it almost blew him sideways into the wall. Christ! If this was how the other half lived, no wonder Ezra had been surprised by a wobbly shower-head and the rubber duck.

When he finally scrubbed the last of the oil out of his hair, he slipped out to find a fluffy white dressing gown with a small golden wing and company name embroidered on the chest, almost like the ones you’d get in a fancy hotel. He bundled himself up in it and padded back along the corridor towards the dining room.

Felt bloody weird, being in a dressing gown and barefoot and fannying about with his hair loose on a multi-million-quid yacht docked at sodding Seaham of all places.

As he approached the dining room, he paused, unable to keep from smiling.

“Oh, that’s so kind of you, Warlock,” Ezra was saying, his voice soft with emotion and affection. “I promise I’ll treasure it.”

The boys, he guessed, had cornered Ezra to insist he read their letters. Turned out the little buggers hadn’t gone to bed when he’d told them to the night before. Instead, they’d huddled together with a torch and both wrote letters for Mr. Fell.

“I’ve put you into my book too,” Adam said. “You can’t go away now, because you’re in my book.”

Ezra laughed. “No, I’m afraid I can’t. You’re stuck with me.”

And Crowley’s heart was welling over and he had to swallow hard before stepping into the dining room.

As expected, the boys were curled up on the broad couch that ran the length of the wall, settled on either side of Ezra, who’d changed out of his sodden clothing and into a fresh blue shirt and cream trousers. He was still wearing that bloody cac-tie, though, wasn’t he? Didn’t seem to care it was gently dampening his shirt.

“Been getting a telling?” Crowley managed when that bright warm smile turned his way again.

“Oh yes,” Ezra said, eyes crinkling with the right kind of lines. “I’m absolutely forbidden from leaving you all behind again. I’m sorry, darling. Those are the rules. We have no choice.” 

Warlock beamed victoriously and Adam leaned smugly against Ezra’s side.

“Are you going to kiss him now?” Warlock inquired.

Crowley’s brain had apparently fallen out of his ear when he wasn’t paying attention. “As– fsgh– wot?”

The boys exchanged looks that were pure Lucy, then directed another one at him.

“We’re not stupid,” Adam said. “You were like all those people in films making stupid faces at each other.”

“And I saw you kissing Mr. Fell at the camp site,” Warlock added.

Crowley helplessly met Ezra’s eyes, relieved to see he wasn’t the only one turning a bit red in the face. “Um.”

Mercifully, Tracy came in with a couple of young men, carrying trays. “The boys said they hadn’t had any breakfast yet,” she said, beaming, “so I made pancakes.”

Adam and Warlock whooped, scrambling to their feet and dashing to the table.

Ezra watched them fondly, then patted the space beside him, eyebrows rising in invitation.

Crowley crossed the floor and folded down beside him at once. A little more of the knot unravelled in his chest as Ezra slipped an arm around his shoulders and drew him snugly against his side, his hand stroking warmly up and down Crowley’s arm.

“I’m glad you came,” Ezra confided.

Crowley knotted his hands together to keep them from wandering. “I didn’t– I wasn’t sure if you would want to see me again,” he admitted. “I mean– it’s–” He forced himself to look at Ezra. “I didn’t think I’d like you and then I did and everything got…” He shook his head. “I just– that ratbastard was at the hospital and he left you there and I didn’t–”

“Gabriel? You saw him?”

Crowley nodded unhappily. “Heard him too. He left you there on purpose and I–” He gave Ezra a helpless look. “You might’ve been a bit of a bastard to me, but you didn’t deserve that.”

“A bit of…” Ezra gave a small groan. “Oh, Lord. I never apologised for that, did I?”

“Eh?”

“For… well…” Ezra flapped a hand. “The book incident! I realised it wasn’t you. I tried to have them come back so I could come and apologise for…” He flushed, a mortified expression crossing his face. “I threw you in the water and you still took me in.” He shook his head. “You were so _kind_ to me.”

“Don’t say that,” Crowley groaned, flushing to the roots of his hair.

“Well you _were_ ,” Ezra insisted, lifting his other hand to draw Crowley’s face back to his. The man had a way of looking at you, Crowley thought helplessly, a way of making you feel like the centre of the universe. “Darling, you have been far kinder to me than nearly everyone I have ever met.”

Crowley made a small, feeble garbled noise.

“And,” Ezra continued, relentless, “even after everything, you still tried to protect me from Gabriel. Of course, Tracy was the one to give him the concussion after he pushed me over, but you tried to warn me before.”

“Only sent a few faxes,” Crowley mumbled.

“Oh!”

“Eh?”

“That was how head office found out!” Ezra’s face was alight. “I had my sources here, but you… oh, you _are_ far too clever, aren’t you?”

Crowley unknotted his hands enough to smack him on the leg. “Shaddup.”

“You are,” Ezra insisted. “Head office let us know in the small hours.” He squeezed Crowley warmly. “I think you’ll have made a very good impression.”

“On your boss?”

Ezra’s smile shifted just a bit. “Not… quite.” He kneaded at Crowley’s arm. “Tell me, darling, do you know who Gabriel is to me?”

“Colleague, I thought,” Crowley said, frowning. “I mean, working with you, doing business stuff, right?”

Ezra shook his head. “Technically, he was my… financial manager,” he said. “I got in quite a lot of trouble a few years ago when I gained a rather generous inheritance.” He shifted a little awkwardly. “I was… rather… careless with it.”

“You?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “What was it? Gambling? Drugs?” He leaned closer and wiggled his eyebrows. “A fleet of saucy young men?”

Ezra ducked his head sheepishly. “Gave it away,” he mumbled.

“You _what_?” Crowley squawked.

“I gave it away.” Ezra flapped his hand. “I just – I didn’t need it, and there were so many people who had much more need of it than I, and a rather lovely foundation for queer youths in London had approached me a few weeks earlier and they needed all the help they could get and–”

“Jesus Christ, I love you.”

Ezra’s eyes went wide and round. “You do?”

Crowley’s eyes went equally wide and round, wondering when his brain had decided to side-step out of the equation and let his emotions take control of his mouth. “Er…”

“You _do_!” Ezra’s whole face lit up like Christmas. “Oh, Crowley, I do too!”

Crowley couldn’t help himself, even if his brain was safely out the window. “What? Love you?”

And Ezra, bloody gorgeous, ridiculous man, glowed at him. “Stop being silly,” he said, and kissed him, right there, in front of… well… the boys and Tracy. Crowley made a happy sound, swaying into him, his fingers curling into Ezra’s shirt.

“So what now?” he asked some time later, warm and snuggled. “You give up your high-flying career and come and live in a tenement in Sunderland?”

“Career?” Ezra echoed.

“Aren’t you– I thought you were the librarian for EastGate Holdings?”

Ezra’s smile could’ve blinded him. “Darling, I _am_ EastGate Holdings.”

“Buh?”

No.

That didn’t…

That couldn’t…

“You?”

“Me.” The angel of a man nodded happily. “Well, technically my mother’s company. I’m responsible for a subsidiary branch.”

Words were… not making much in the way of sense. Ezra. Gentle, cheerful stuffy little Ezra who gave an am-dram a standing ovation and apparently handed out a fortune to charity just because he had it lying around, was some kind of high-flying wealthy executive.

“And,” Ezra said, eyes shining, “it just so happens that we have need of a fiscally-sensible individual to make sure I don’t get taken for a ride by people I hire to do work for me. He might also need to help me find a nice new house in the Tyne and Wear area. One with a large garden, for example, and enough room for two growing boys to live.”

“You’re EastGate Holdings,” Crowley managed, thoughts clanking into place. “You. _You_ own this…” He waved around helplessly.

Ezra’s cheeks went pink. “Well… _we_ could, if you like.”

“We?” Crowley echoed. “But– you– how d’you know I’m not just in it for the money?” 

Ezra gave a little wiggle. “The money you didn’t know I had until two minutes ago?” He beamed. “No, no, my dear, you like _me_.”

Funny that sarcasm was the last instinct to die. “Starting to regret that.”

If Ezra’s smile was dazzling, his laughter was another level. “Oh, _you_.” He swatted Crowley’s leg fondly. “I’m an absolute delight.”

And, as Crowley swayed into him, like a serpent seeking heat, he grinned. “Yeah, you are,” he agreed, in the second before their lips met. “Angel.”


End file.
